


Matched Set

by cat_77



Series: Marked [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Injury Recovery, Multi, People being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7029490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legend had it that any time two souls were destined to walk the same path, no matter how brief, they left a mark as indelible as time in their wake.  Darcy never put much faith in legends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A soulmate AU in which people are marked where and when their match first touches them.
> 
> * * *

Legend had it that any time two souls were destined to walk the same path, no matter how brief, they left a mark as indelible as time in their wake. Darcy never put much faith in legends.

Then New Mexico happened.

Then Jane woke one morning with an actual technicolor more-than-tattoo on her wrist.

Marks were usually left in a couple of usual places: fingers, shoulders, palms, feet. Variance was rare, but still happened. Anything beyond the basic color scheme of black, blue, or the occasional red was rare but, again, still happened. Usually the wearer of the mark had one hell of a story to share about it, like Lifetime Original Movie level of story, and not always the kind that didn't need tissues at the end.

To say Jane waking up with a tiny rainbow Norse-like hammer on the inside of her left wrist was unusual was an understatement. Figuring out just who and what Thor actually was made a whole lot of sense after that.

The funny thing about these soul marks was that they were completely random. The universe might know what they meant, but the universe wasn't exactly talking. To an outsider, they might seem like nothing more than a tattoo of dubious origins. Symbols, shapes, and very rarely anything that might pass as words, though not always in an easily recognizable language - these were the norm and no one ever knew what they were going to get until they got it.

That was the other funny thing: they just sort of happened. Nine times out of ten, the mark was in the place where your soulmate first touched you. Nine times out of ten, they didn't show up until that touch actually occurred, skin on skin style. As in Person A's mark didn't appear until Person B touched initiated a touch and Person B's mark didn't show until Person A reciprocated. Every once in a while, again, there was some variance. A mark showed up seemingly out of nowhere or in a place the person swore was covered or people did touch but it was through layers upon layers of clothing - that sort of thing. Sometimes it was written off as an accidental brush in passing, other times there were some truly interesting accusations, and occasionally there was simply no reason to be found, possibly because neither party paid enough attention to look for it.

Needless to say, this led to some complex cultural norms in some places. And some awesomely fake marks that may or may not be proven to be so at a later date. Tattoo artists totally got a workout and were totally worth every penny spent.

Princesses and heiresses of certain supposed worth were covered at all times - long gloves and colorful tights being the height of fashion and all that. Darcy had an entire rant at the ready about implied ownership rights and false chastity and such for anyone daring to defend that particular practice. The word "chattel" was used a lot. Possibly overused, really. She was still working on that one.

Princes and men of all types who could afford them took to wearing gloves as well what with most touching being with hands and most marks caused by guys being handsy and, yes, there was an entire subculture that flat out refused to cover their hands at all but a lot of them were kind of skeezy and claimed possession more than partnership should a mark appear. The gloves tended to disappear after a mark was made anyway, an announcement to any and all that a match had occurred. Usually, for the rich at least, they just happened to reveal the chastest of marks on some politically relevant spouse-to-be's palm or knuckles, remarkably in the shape of some federated flag or sigil or some such crap.

It was always awesome when the paparazzi discovered other marks that totally did not match up with a person's supposed perfect mate, especially when matching marks were found on "close friends" that they happened to spend a boatload of time with.

That's not so say all marks were a sign of romantic compatibility. Sometimes the matched pair made a total powerhouse in their chosen field - board members of truly influential companies, scientists destined to find a breakthrough no one else would just because they worked on the same wavelength, bestest of best friends that simply just fit everywhere but the bedroom. 

It's why Darcy subscribed to the belief that, should this whole soulmate thing hold water, people might have more than one. Polyamory was totally a thing before the Mystical Magical Whatever happened millennia before - they had the anthropological records to show it. She waved off the nutjobs that claimed that was just a sign they hadn't met their One True Love and so they were floundering in the muck. To her, maybe, they found more than one mate. To her, maybe, they found they didn't need a mate at all, and just had some awesome bros that bettered their lives. To her, maybe, there was a place in between and someone could have a mark made of political alliance right next to a mark of love. To her, maybe, they might even be one in the same.

Anyway, that had been the basis of her thesis that won her a pretty piece of really expensive paper. More than a single person had refused to even sit on her panel, but others were intrigued and called it a "thoughtful hypothesis for today's political climate" for whatever that meant. What it meant to her personally was that she finally got to add an abbreviation to her signature. 

Well, that, and an increased paycheck. She still assigned herself to Jane because the woman seriously needed all the help she could get and pretty much nobody connected with her in a productive way what with all her little nuances others called nuisances, but Jane now worked for Stark who insisted there was no such thing as an unpaid intern. He also insisted that those little initials on her signature meant a higher pay scale in the Stark hierarchy of life. She, for one, was not about to complain.

Okay, so she was going to complain, just not about that.

She was going to complain that Jane needed to see the outside of a lab every once in a while and preferably the outside of the tower she worked in as well because while Thor-time was undoubtedly special in ways she really didn't need the details on, sunlight-time was special too.

This is why she forced her favorite scientist to go out to lunch at least once a week. As in out-out. True, they had only been in their new digs for like six weeks, but she had successfully gotten this to work five times now. Nearby cafes counted as much as a picnic in the park, so long as fresh air and semi-fresh food was involved. This time they had split the difference and had picked up coffees and sandwiches from a tiny hole-in-the-wall place to consume on benches with a decent view of a pond and idly converse about anything that tickled their fancy. Given that Darcy had brought along a trashy tabloid, they had plenty to talk about.

"Okay, but no, seriously? She was spotted with a third mark, this one damn near on her ass which, granted, the press really didn't need a close up of because that's a total violation of privacy, but the little umbrella-looking thing just happens to match the one on her valet's palm? Who do they think they're fooling?" she asked around a mouthful of pastrami.

Jane rolled her eyes, but reluctantly admitted, "If it's not photoshopped then, yeah, she probably should have covered it."

"No, you're not getting me here Jane-o," Darcy protested. "She could have covered it, yeah, whatever, but people shouldn't feel the need to hide their bodies just because the Great Mystical Mayhem decided to draw on them. My point is that maybe, possibly, he's her true mate and the picture perfect political union complete with marks that are damn near their fucking flag is the farce. Or, you know, she and Princey-Poo totes work well together to do what they need to get done, but that doesn't mean they need to be shacking up. Maybe they realize this and are letting her be with the other piece of her soul in private, even if they still feel the need to put on the show for the public."

"Careful," Jane warned as she wiped her hands on a napkin. "You're starting to sound like maybe you don't think the whole being marked thing is... what did you call it? Hooey?"

"Hooey," Darcy confirmed. It was totes a legit word.

Her views were well known, at least amongst those she called friends. They also happened to be gaining ground with the world in general. Too many mark matches ended in miserable marriages, it was a simple fact with the data to support it. Threesomes and moresomes were still considered subversive with the conservatives, but a logical compromise by more and more of the general public each day. She knew her thesis had absolutely no sway on said general public because it had damn near no sway on the academic world, but she really did like the fact that she was fucking right and she knew it.

A loud, high-pitched whine caught their attention before they could continue their conversation. Given that nothing in front of them or behind them accounted for such a sound, they both did what astrophysicists tended to do and looked up.

There was a portal forming above the park because of course there was.

The Iron Man armor was flying towards the portal because of course it was.

"Outta?" Darcy suggested. She started packing up their trash because there was no need to be a litterbug, even during a potential interdimensional crisis, and then sighed when she saw Jane pull out her phone instead. "Come on," she urged, physically grabbing her friend by the sleeve to tug her along.

"They better be taking readings," Jane muttered, reluctantly following. She was still snapping pictures as she went.

Darcy got them out of the park around the time the booms started happening. Whenever Stark was involved, explosions just seemed to occur. These at least seemed relatively contained to one area, so maybe he was learning.

Unfortunately, if the portal itself hadn't garnered the attention of the masses, the pretty bright lights did. Some people sensibly ducked down, others ran, and still others stood stock still with their mouths hanging open and getting into everyone else's way. She was firmly in the column of if not run then stroll quickly, and dragged Jane along for the ride.

Unfortunately part two was that drivers now noticed the the booms and alternately gawked from their cars and tried to get away. One guy decided to multitask and hung his head out of the window while he continued to swerve down the street because he was awesome like that.

He was, of course, aimed right in their direction.

Jane was still snapping pictures and only half-aware of her surroundings so it was up to Darcy to get them both out of harm's way. She still had a grip on her friend's long sleeve and used it to yank her forward and maybe give her a push at the same time. The masses were all well-clothed in this ritzy area so it wasn't like she was risking a random touch quite that much plus, if it turned out to be a hit she'd get the bonus of being saved by her soulmate which was always good for the tabloids. Not to mention Darcy really did doubt anyone would or could compete with Jane's own prince-god from another planet and the smart chick that figured out how to let him travel between worlds on a regular basis so Jane herself was fairly safe.

She was about to take a leaping step to follow her friend into the fray when some idiot crashed into her from the opposite direction. Mix that idiot with the overachiever in the car and her own less-than-stellar balance, and she was sent sprawling across the pavement.

It hurt. 

A lot.

Her entire left side screamed in pain, her ankle was pressed at an odd angle against the curb and her arm at an even odder angle from her shoulder. Something warm and sticky dripped against the side of her face and she had the queasy feeling that it was her own blood. She tried to get a view of the world around her, but got like a dozen instead through the shattered lenses of her glasses.

"Darcy!" she heard a voice shout. It was a familiar voice and a familiar name and it took her far too long to figure out it was Jane calling for her.

She did what she thought was right and proper and swore profusely, even if the sound she actually produced seemed more like an incoherent sob instead.

"I called for help," Jane promised her, suddenly much closer. She thought she had only blinked. "Well, I pushed the panic button which is pretty much the same thing," she finished, now tucking her hair back from where it tickled Darcy's face. Really, that had been the last of her concerns. The blinding pain had been the first.

She heard voices, most of which were jumbled and meaningless, but then heard something far louder and far more authoritative atop them all. "Stark claims he's got the portal handled, we need to get these civilians out of here for when it all blows up in his face," someone who sounded like they actually had a clue said.

Another voice, gruffer and less showman-y, said, "We've got an alert. Someone he thinks is important enough to track." The voice dropped into a disparaging rumble after that, difficult to make out save for the promise to take care of the injured before the rich.

"It's me!" Jane exclaimed. There was movement, maybe her waving her phone around. It was hard to tell since Darcy really did not want to keep her eyes open and could mainly only see dirty cement anyway. "I work for Stark. Well, kind of. More like he begged me after... Whatever. You've got to help my friend. She got me out of the way with minimal injury, but the same can't be said for her."

There was commotion, noise, and then hands on her, turning her with what she assumed was gentleness but it's not like she could tell the difference. They pulled her onto her back and she couldn't hold back the sharp and drawn out, "Fuck," that escaped her lips.

She dared to open her eyes and saw two men, one dressed in a startling shade of blue and one damn near in all black. The one in black tried to lower her arm for her and profanity sprung anew. She had no idea why people called it blacking out in pain because, really, it was bright and burning and searing in flashes against her eyelids.

She came back to reality to hear one of the voices ask, "Is she okay?"

There was a hand on her, the press of bare fingertips like fire against the pulse point of her neck. That was just against every damned protocol ever, really, because either medics were to wear gloves or touch someplace innocuous like a wrist first to avoid the embarrassing marks of people's faces that were so common decades ago. CPR may save lives, but no one needed a soul mark on their lips for the rest of eternity. She was just thankful the idiot didn't yank open her eyelids to check her pupils first because that would totally be her luck. Yeah, she'd meet someone special and prove her theories wrong or right, but she'd also be branded like cattle for the rest of her existence.

She pried open her own eyes and adjusted her view to that of, maybe it wouldn't be that bad of a price to pay of it meant she was bonded with a guy as hot as the one that currently loomed over her. A guy that stared at her curiously, hand still hovering near before he tried to pull it back as though burned. 

She reached out to grab it herself with her good hand. She wasn't sure why, maybe to prove to him that she wasn't some freaky contagious invalid mutant that fell through the portal or something. Her fingers skidded along leather though, just the tips brushing against a tiny scrap between where his stupid fingerless - seriously, who wore those - gloves and the sleeve of his coat met before he successfully pulled himself back.

"Buck?" the other guy, the one in blue, prompted. Annoyed now, that guy reached out with his actually gloved hand, then realized it was totally the wrong type of glove and way too padded to feel anything through. Instead of just verifying that his buddy got a reading, he tossed the thing to the side and reached to check her pulse himself, fingers hovering a hairsbreadth away from her skin.

She swatted him away before she realized that movement was seriously not in her future, at least anytime soon. Instead, she gritted her teeth and ground out, "Shoulder is out. Unless you two can at least manage that within somewhat standard protocols, can you find me someone who knows what the hell they are doing?"

"We gotcha," the guy in black promised. He leaned closer now and looked apologetic as he said, "You ain't going to like this though."

She wanted to ask what he meant, but found out soon enough. The guy in blue manhandled her into some sort of semi-sitting position that damn near made her scream. He pressed and prodded right where she hurt most and right where her sweater bunched in uncomfortable ways and she really wanted to yell at him for it, right up until he nodded to the other guy who slipped closer, grabbed her arm, and simply yanked.

There was a loud wailing sound and she barely self-aware enough to admit it came from her. The pain was sharp and blinding right up until there was a sickening popping noise, and then it faded into a dull ache that seemed to encompass her body as a whole. Her head lolled back against the shoulder of the man still propping her up and she managed to groan, "Well, that sucked."

Then she promptly passed out.

* * *

She awoke in a place far different than a dingy street corner. The room was made up of shades of soft grays and muted whites and a bunch of blinking machines. There were blinds to the side that were pulled and helped to cast the room in shadows, and a port for an IV was taped to her hand though whatever drip it had once been connected to had gone dry. 

Gone were her sweater and jeans, which was fine since she had a faint memory of her favorite pair of denim meeting an untimely end when her knee hit the pavement. In their place was seriously the softest hospital gown that was ever made. Like, she wished her pajamas were as soft. Still the muted gray, and with thin almost gossamer sleeves that fit around the port and ended in almost gloves the way they clung to each and every one of her fingers separately.

There were protocols, and then there were Protocols. Apparently black leather and fancy blue meant you got taken to an ER paid for by more than just the taxpayers' money because this place was several levels up from that time she sprained her wrist climbing her cousin's tree.

Though, she really did wish she knew where she was. It was a little disconcerting to be moved, let alone dressed, without any knowledge of the act.

She shifted in her fancy bed and tried to see if there were any tells. Of course, having actual glasses would have helped, but she remembered them shattering in the fall. She squinted at the form just to her right, and knew it was one she'd recognize anywhere. 

"Jane?" she asked, less as a verification of who she was and more as a prompt to tell her what the hell happened.

"You're safe," was the first thing her friend said.

Darcy resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. "Yeah, got that with the posh hospital room and all that," she said dryly. "What happened?"

"There was a portal which was technically just-"

"I remember that. After the blacking out part. What happened then?" she prompted, not needing the science babble quite yet. She kinda doubted she would get anywhere near following it right now.

Jane smiled, hopefully in understanding. "You got rescued by the Avengers," she blurted with total glee. "Well, like two of them. Maybe one and a half because Captain America is totally one, but I don't know about his friend yet. Anyway, they picked you up and got you here. You were a damsel in distress and I'm never letting you live that down after that pining princess stuff you pulled when I met Thor."

That was fair, she supposed, but still begged the question, "Where is here?"

"Oh!" Jane exclaimed. She was either surprised Darcy had not grasped the obvious or embarrassed that she hadn't gotten to that part yet. "Stark Medical. There's a whole three floors of the tower set aside just in case, but you haven't needed that yet so, um, wouldn't know?"

"And you know this because?"

Now Jane looked chagrined. "Because I found out about two hours ago," she admitted. She waved her right wrist and it was only then that Darcy realized it was wrapped in some sort of new age splint. "Tiny fracture, barely there, hurts like hell."

"Shit," Darcy swore. She blew an admittedly lackluster curl from her face and winced. "That was totally from me, wasn't it?"

Jane clearly saw no need for lies as she admitted, "Yep, but the alternative was being hit by a car or to be seriously injured avoiding being hit by a car, so..."

"I chose one of the alternative alternatives, didn't I?" Darcy asked. She still wasn't one hundred percent sure what hit her, only that it started a spiral into a world of suck. At Jane's sympathetic nod, she asked, "What's the damage?"

She closed her eyes in preparation for the gory details. She knew about her shoulder, even if her arm wasn't immobilized in a sling. Her head throbbed and she couldn't tell if her neck hurt or if that was a side effect of the shoulder it was attached to. The entire left side of her body was in question though, as all she could tell was that it hurt, and that hurt was currently dulled by some impressive drugs that would likely wear off sooner rather than later.

She expected a matter of fact rundown, maybe some reassuring words or insistence that it wasn't so bad. What she didn't expect was the creak of a door opening and a decidedly male voice that answered with a gruff, "Shoulder was dislocated, ankle is sprained, knee has a small strain to the tendon and surrounding ligaments, and you have a mild concussion."

The voice was oddly familiar though, and she scrunched up her face while she tried to remember why. Then she remembered she could just open her damn eyes and see for herself.

It was the guy in black leather. Not that he was wearing it now. Dark jeans, dark shirt with a dark flannel atop it - dark was apparently his thing, right down to the dark hair that hung in his eyes. Those though, were not dark. From where she was sitting, admittedly too far away to see perfectly clearly sans glasses, they were a shocking light shade of what she thought was blue. It was hard to tell for certain, as he quickly looked away.

There was a lot of things she wanted to ask him, like who he was and why he had been there. Jane had given her a half-assed reason, but she preferred the full-ass version if possible. Instead, the first words she managed to blurt were, "Because suddenly you're a doctor?"

His eyes darted back to her. Definitely blue. Maybe. They were wide and spoke of a begrudging embarrassment and she almost felt bad. Almost. "No, doll," he insisted, almost apologetically. The almost was becoming a definite. "Just someone who stuck around to make sure you were alright. I should go..."

He took a total of two steps before Jane sighed dramatically, "Neither of you are that dumb. You can't be. It's not possible." She brushed her hair away from her face and almost got the long strands tangled in the brace. "Thor? Please say you're not teaming up with people this stupid?" she pleaded, a little louder than necessary.

As though summoned, the demigod in question leaned just barely through the doorway, successfully blocking Dark and Handsome from escaping. "I fear I cannot, for you have met the one called Barton," he smiled. His eyes narrowed slightly when he glanced about the room, settling on her once more before he asked, "What troubles you, my love?"

She glared at the other two occupants of the room, but shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing," she muttered. Louder now, she asked, "Could you please see if it's okay for Darcy to leave yet? The doctor said they were just letting her rest, but she could probably do that more without an audience."

Which is how Darcy discovered she had just been in an observation room. Yeah, definitely fancier than the tree place. Outside the door was an entire world full of top of the line machines and scanners and doctors that put her little fancy piece of paper to shame. This was where heroes went when they got boo-boos, not people like her.

"Can I even afford this place?" she asked under her breath once situated in an actual padded wheelchair and given a sling that didn't feel like it was trying to saw her neck in half. There was a promise of paperwork and a recommendation for physical therapy and, better yet, a a promise of no surgery needed and then a final scan before the IV port was removed. They had not given her clothing back, but the super soft gown was actually closer to super soft pajamas complete with comfy bottoms and everything, and now came with a matching robe and little slippers that even slid over the brace on her ankle. The brace itself rested directly against her skin, something about the material it was made out of helping with circulation or some such thing she didn't actually listen to. It was washable though, and they gave her spares, so there was that.

One of the nurses, wearing the proper gloves she'd like to note, smiled at her after adjusting her ankle just so on the chair. "You are a Stark employee, believe me when I say it's covered," he promised.

She raised her eyebrows doubtingly, but took him at his word. She'd find out for certain when the bills came rolling in. She let Thor push her in the wheelchair because she knew not to question his ever so earnest offer, but she did sort of want to question why Monochromatic Man followed them onto the elevator.

She found she had far more important questions to ask however, when the elevator stopped at what was most decidedly not ground level. There was no foyer, no cab waiting to take her to her apartment, only a huge lounge-like area full of couches and chairs and what smelled like some truly excellent foodage. 

Thor pushed her from the elevator and eyed the small set of steps that led to the rest of the place. He looked ready to just pick her up, chair and all, but their tagalong rolled his eyes and stepped forward before he could make his move. He scooped her up as though she weighed nothing and carried her down the steps and to a couch that looked like she could sink into. He lowered her with deceptive gentleness and added a pillow for her ankle, her wounded side away from the press of the back cushions so she could flinch without fear of them getting in the way. As a testament to the weirdness of the day, Captain Fucking America grabbed a super soft blanket from the side and tucked it around her lower half. To be fair, Captain Fucking America had also changed into civvies and it was truly a shame that he couldn't find any shirts to fit him. 

No, the opposite of that, really. At least she had eye candy during her weirdness.

When she found her words, it was to say, "Not that I'm complaining about the royal treatment here, but what the hell?"

Captain America looked confused, and then looked less than pleased when his gaze transferred from her to the man at her side. "Really, Buck?" he asked, and sounded pained to do so.

"I haven't had the chance yet," the guy she finally had a name for protested. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up all artful-like, and looked everywhere but at her. 

She scoffed because she could. "Because the last hour in Medical wasn't time enough to even tell me his name," she snorted. That's when she realized there were a few more people in the room than she first thought, some of them vaguely familiar, most of them in a class high above her own. Never one to be deterred, not even while seriously underdressed in a set of awesome pjs, she continued, "Mr. Named After a Stag here told me how I'm broken, hovered, and carried me here. Kinda stalker-y, but not a complete ass. No one, however, has told me why I was brought here and not actually home? Food smells awesome, sleep sounds better, home sounds required."

The one called Buck made to reach for her again, blanket burrito and all. "I can take you to your rooms if you want. What floor do you live on?"

"Second," she answered automatically.

He looked confused until Jane clarified, "Of a place just off Sixth in the area known as Hell's Kitchen."

Buck and his fellow bud Captain Confused blanched at that. "You don't live in the tower? I thought..." Blond and Cut turned to someone she couldn't quite see and asked, "Tony, why would you make Jane Foster's assistant live in a place called Hell's Kitchen?"

"Not my call," Tony Actual Stark replied. She had met him a few times now, usually chasing him out of Jane's lab so that she could get her work done. Not super impressed given his rep, but he seemed nice enough. Bonus that he believed that the best coffee machines ever invented should be available pretty much everywhere.

"Better question is to ask Foster why her peon rejected my offer," Stark countered. He had a tumbler in his hand, something amber and undoubtedly expensive. He waved it at her to see if she wanted any, but a woman with amazingly perfect red hair took it away from him and shook her head.

Most people would assume a recent college grad with loans to pay off would jump at the chance to live in the same building where she would be earning her first real grownup paycheck. The cost of transportation alone would make it a welcomed offer, especially in New York. Maybe. Depending on the actual rent. She had never gotten that far into the conversation before she turned him down. Anyway, most people were not Darcy Lewis, M.S. 

"She's not my peon," Jane protested. "She is, or was, my unpaid intern that you now pay. I think. Still hazy on the details. She's still around and you claimed unpaid work was a blight on humanity and promised to cut her a check. As for why she said no, ask her yourself."

Stark looked at her expectantly, but she waited him out and made him ask the question himself because she knew it would annoy him. It apparently amused at least the redhead though. Darcy's answer, she knew, was not what he had been expecting. "Freckles," she replied simply.

Stark sputtered, but Thor laughed loud and bold. "Ah, the Hell Beast of the Kitchen! A great adversary to be certain."

"It's her cat," Jane clarified. She looked tired, and sat heavily on the overstuffed chair next to the couch. It reminded Darcy that she was injured too, as well as had spent most of the afternoon sitting around waiting for Darcy to wake up. "Thor gave her a kitten because of the animals she tried to save in New Mexico."

"It was an honorable endeavor," Thor agreed. "It showed her to be great of heart."

"Yeah, but Frecks is possibly descended from actual real demons," Jane cut him off. "I don't even want to know where you found him."

"Frecks is sweet and loving," Darcy objected. Freckles only ever attacked those he thought of as a threat, which just happened to be everyone save for Darcy herself. She missed her ball of fluff already. It was yet another reminder why she should be home instead to take care of him. "And I didn't take your offer because I can only imagine what the damage deposit would be in a place like this, and add a kitten to it? It was hard enough to find a place that took cats at a reasonable rate - Thor offered me a puppy but no one took dogs without signing your life away, no one - so, yeah, no, not taking you up on spending that much per month just for the convenience factor if it means I have to live fluff-free."

Captain Curious and Buck glared at Stark now, as though he had personally offended them. For his part, he waved his hands back and forth in protest. "We can house a Hulk here, a kitten is nothing, hell beast or no," he insisted. "And there is so much more than a convenience factor - safety alone... As for rent? Who the hell pays rent? Okay, a few people, but not not a lot and really not that much and... Hell's Kitchen? Over me? Really? You wound me, Lewis. Wound."

The one called Buck frowned. "Lewis?" he mouthed.

A completely different redhead from the drink stealing one sighed and shook her head. This one was recognizable for being a world class badass who occasionally left chocolates for the science staff. She offered Darcy a plate of small foods, all neatly cut up to be able to be eaten single-handedly. Her own hands now free, she cuffed the man across the back of the head. "James Buchanan Barnes, meet Darcy Lewis. Miss Lewis, meet the sadly non-housebroken James Buchanan Barnes."

"Bucky," Captain America corrected, at the same time the man in question said, "James."

"Whoa, you just have a plethora of names now, don't you?" Darcy teased. The food looked good, smelled excellent, and she was really tempted to try some, but not before she added a cutting, "Not that you mentioned any of them."

James pushed his hair back again and this time she noticed two very important things. The first was that one of his hands was metal, as in actual metal, as in probably more than his hand as his wrist was still shiny and silver beneath the cuff of his shirt. That alone told her just who he was more than anything else. She hadn't lived in a hole in the ground for the last few years and kinda even paid attention to the news during that time. 

The second was the mark on the inner wrist of his human hand. She only caught a glimpse, quick and fleeting, but it asked more questions than answered them. What she saw was bright and red and not faded in the least. That meant he had a soulmate. Needlework might change color over time, but marks were another matter all together.

So why the hell was a mated guy doting on her? 

It simply wasn't done. Even if you found that you weren't a good match with your mate, you didn't wave it out there for all to see. You were far more subtle about it, introduced them to all involved. Had a tattoo artist approximate your skin tone and cover that sucker up.

She tore her eyes away from the little glimpse of red to look for the obvious suspects. She had read her history books, and so she raked her gaze over Captain Cut's visible body for a sign. Though there was none that she could see, she knew that meant nothing. The two of them grew up in a different time - which kind of explained their issues with modern social mores - so maybe it wasn't in the usual areas.

She then looked to the redhead who was so exasperated with him. She was wearing short sleeves with tons of unmarked skin on display. She had readily touched Mr. Lots of Names, so she clearly knew beforehand if they were a match or not, and seemed entirely unbothered by the whole thing.

Or maybe not.

"Pepper, may I?" she asked in the same exasperated tone.

The first redhead seemed to know exactly what she meant and dug into a nearby purse to toss her something small and shiny. James-guy looked physically pained, like he knew what was coming, and moved as if to make an escape. He was cornered though, more so when Thor loomed all protective-like, and resigned himself to stand at the most awkward parade rest Darcy had ever seen.

"Here, have a look," Deadly Redhead offered. She held the mirror just so and Darcy reluctantly dared to look at it. She saw a sizable bruise on her forehead, a few little cuts on her temple that were probably from her glasses, but that was it. At least until the mirror was tilted downwards slightly.

"Holy shit, is that..." she exclaimed because she sucked at subtlety. On her throat, at her pulse point on the left hand side, was a mark that was so totally not there that morning, or ever. The light was all nice and subdued and her glasses were still missing, but it was enough to make out the most important aspects of the thing. It was small, thankfully, and held the precise outline of a star. 

It was also bright fucking red.

She flinched, and her eyes immediately darted to her hovering henchman, who looked everywhere but her, not saying a damn word. He did speak, however, when the possibly literal killer redhead grabbed his arm and yanked it forward with a surprising amount of force.

"Natalia," he protested, but it was too late, the damage was already done. Darcy had seen it for herself: a tiny precise outline of a star in bright fucking red.

Her mouth ran away from her before she could stop it, and she blurted, "And this is why we wear gloves. Protocols, have you heard of them?"

He wrenched his hand away and tucked it back behind himself as though that erased the truth. "I- I'm sorry," he said, not much more than a grumbled whisper. "I didn't... I mean... It doesn't... It's not fair to you, I know this, but..."

Darcy was surprisingly at peace over this. His weirdness was now given a reason, if nothing else. "No big," she shrugged only partially regretfully. She knew she would be silently mourning that her soulmate was fucking hot and so didn't want her in that way, at least for a few minutes because she was shallow like that. "You and I just have to figure out what the grand plan is. What projects are you working on? I can totes help. Maybe that's what this means since I have no country to offer you for political alliance? Alternatively, how are you in the labs?"

"What?" he snapped, sharp and surprisingly threatening. Also surprisingly sexy but she was not going to admit that part out loud.

"Please say you're not the ownership type, because this girl don't play that," Darcy huffed, his hotness successfully abated at the thought. "You can be antiestablishment all you want, go out and mark as many chicks and chucks as you like, but you don't own me and I sure as hell won't even pretend to be docile and caged."

He looked panicked now, a hint of fear mixed with the clear expression of confusion. "What?" he repeated, far less deadly than before. "Natalia? Steve?" he asked, looking for allies.

Natalia, aka Natasha, aka Black Widow, aka Deadly Redhead, looked at her curiously, head cocked slightly to the side.

Steve, aka Captain America, aka BFF of her supposed soulmate, looked truly and utterly hapless.

It was Pepper, the other redhead that was probably the one that actually ran the joint more than Stark himself, that stepped in to clear matters up. Somewhat. "Mr. Barnes, may I suggest you read Ms. Lewis' thesis on soulmates to better understand where she may be coming from? Ms. Lewis, please remember that Mr. Barnes comes from a decidedly less liberal era with regards to the same."

He nodded numbly and she felt herself doing the same. She shook it off first though, which was frankly amazing considering her concussion-induced headache, and said, "Short version: marks might just be political or power connections as much as representing the lovey-dovey aspects. I respect what you may need out of this, but realize that I am so not the sit back and be controlled type."

He nodded again before he caught himself, shook his head, and frowned. "I would never... People do that?" he sputtered. The concept seemed so foreign to him, but he seemed to be a bit out of his comfort zone in general, so Darcy wasn't quite sure what to tell him.

"More often than you think," Pepper assured him. She turned back to Darcy and bade, "Please eat so that you can take your next dose of painkillers. You can stay in one of the guest suites for the night and we will send someone to check on your cat. Further accommodations can be discussed once you're up to it."

Personally, Darcy thought the couch was comfy enough, even with the distinct lack of Freckles. The promise of painkillers was beautiful though, especially considering the numbness from her knee to her toes was beginning to solidify into something far more excruciating. "I'm perfectly fine going home," she protested, because she was, really. Maybe they could reach a compromise and she could have painkillers and her tiny apartment. Surely they wouldn't hold those suckers for ransom just to force her into some more awkward conversation with a guy who shared a mark with her.

No one looked impressed or moved in anyway by her protest.

She sighed and took her first bite and it was divine. She had no idea what it actually was, but there was crumbly pastry around savory meat and cheese and she debated primness over shoving the lot of it in her mouth all at once. This was not Hot Pockets' nuke and puke level of food but, like, fancy shindig that-word-she-never-could-pronounce level. She ate that piece, and everything that looked remotely like that piece, maybe a little quicker than was strictly polite but, damn, she had one interesting day and reasoned she totally earned a break or three.

She tried a weird cheese that was also on her plate, but didn't like it nearly as much. She reluctantly ate another piece of it though when she saw the good stuff was already gone because she was not about to let food go to waste - she simply wasn't raised that way. She took the mug of what turned out to be tea of some sort from the guy that was hanging with Natasha who happened to have small double triangle surrounded by a circle with a little X through it on his throat. She knew better than to ask that particular question in her current status, so she sipped the tea instead, weird cheese forgotten.

Or maybe not so forgotten. Buck of the Soul Mark plopped down on the floor next to the couch and pointblank stole her plate. Before she could complain, he replaced it with a fresh one that held another three of the pastry things. He didn't say a word, but he did eat the cheese and, when she tried to balance her mug to grab at her prize, took that from her as well.

Captain Steve sat in another chair, just close enough to nudge Sullen Boy with his foot right before she needed something. Natasha narrowed her eyes at them both, but Jane tiredly grinned, possibly just happy she wasn't the only one with someone assigned to be at her beck and call as Thor tended to bring her precisely what she needed, before she knew it herself.

Two little pills appeared on her plate and she took those with the last of her tea. Either they were far more potent or she was far more tired than she had originally thought, as she found herself fighting a yawn within minutes. Her eyes started to droop shut, and she heard more than a single conversation around her grow quieter, but it wasn't until the empty plate was removed from her lap that she protested, "Freckles?"

"He'll be fine, doll," a male voice promised.

She had no idea why she found that reassuring, but she did anyway. Soon enough, even the background noise started to fade away and she drifted to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

For the second time in as many days, she woke up in an entirely different place than she had fallen asleep. Or passed out. Same thing, really. It was a comfy bed, soft and simply adorned, but it was most definitely not her own. A couch sat across from her, another chair to the side in front of a kicking entertainment system. There was even a small kitchenette between her and the door she assumed led out to freedom. All in all, it reminded her of an upscale version of her own studio apartment, though she had a real kitchen and even a table instead of a breakfast bar.

Not bad for being only a guest suite. Made her kind of wonder what the usual living quarters looked like.

She tried to push herself up and out of bed and was quickly reminded of her injuries from the day before. Pain fought with the overwhelming need to pee, and she forced herself to fight past one to deal with the other.

The location of the bathroom was fairly obvious, even if the trip there was far more complicated than it really needed to be. By the time she got there, even her good leg hurt, but she had an inordinate amount of pride at completing at least that task on her own.

In the bright light of day, and the bright light of the bathroom, she was finally able to get a good look at herself. She was used to washing up without her glasses, so she knew what she should and shouldn't see in the process. Tangled hair was a given, but the bruise on the side of her face was far darker than she had first imagined now that it had the chance to truly bloom. The cuts really weren't that bad, but the day old makeup was, so she rinsed that off the best that she could one-handed with the soap provided.

The sling had been left at the side of the bed, but she still clutched her arm tight against her ribs as the tendons and muscles protested their recent abuse. Even though her legs were getting tired, she couldn't resist one good look at her new accoutrement.

It was still there, maybe about an inch from point to point. It could have been worse but, really, why did it have to be right on her neck? And from someone who didn't want her either. Scarves were in her future. Lots of scarves. She'd have to learn how to tie them to keep them away from the equipment and the occasional flames versus the usual rough drape-like thing she did, but that was doable. She had seen far worse in her day.

Now that she looked though, really looked, she saw something that she had missed before. The star wasn't quite just an outline. Yeah, she was pale, but she wasn't quite that pale. Her skin was normal colored outside the red lines, but damn near white within it. Maybe? Or was that one time she had to take a class on color theory was failing her? That, or her skin was all fresh and new from generating the mark. Some people claimed that happened, but it usually didn't last long enough to be proven or disproven. She'd have to wait and see.

A multicolored mark was a rarity. Jane's was explained by her match being a space prince, but what the hell was James? Yeah, history told her he was frozen and thawed a few times, wiped and made into a completely different person, but was that enough to explain it? His dual reality transferred to her skin? She had a vague memory of his own mark, but it was only quick and fleeting and not enough to verify the whiteness.

A knock on the door to the main suite drew her out of her thoughts. The distance between there and where she currently stood seemed too far to contemplate, but she knew she at least had decent lung power. "Come in," she called, then wondered if the door was locked and what if they couldn't and then there was the distinct possibility the room was soundproofed anyway. "If you can," she amended.

There was the click of a lock and that answered at least that part of the question. A head peered around the corner that was sadly blond in nature and she forced herself to look as pleasant and presentable as possible after lounging and sleeping in the same clothing for about a day. She was just happy that she had already flushed.

"Miss Lewis?" Captain Steve asked. There was a little furrow between his brows, like he was concerned about her wellbeing or some such thing.

"How can I help you, Mr. Cap?" she asked. She had wedged herself up against the door, letting the frame take some of the weight from her.

"Just Steve," he insisted. He eyed her, and then the wheelchair that was stashed off to the side, but wisely didn't mention it. Yet. She had a feeling that would be short-lived. "I thought I'd check in on you and see if you need anything? I can get Natasha if you prefer help from someone of the female persuasion."

He blushed at that. Honestly blushed. It was adorable.

"I'm good," she insisted. It might have even been believable if she hadn't wobbled. "No need for soulmate's bestie to check in on me, I swear." And those were words she hadn't planned on saying. The tone was less than awesome as well.

He barely blinked at it though. He only stepped closer and said, "I just sent Buck home about an hour ago. He insisted on standing watch all night in your hallway, even though I told him Stark's AI would let us know if anything happened."

She took a moment to process that, and then to process the way his eyes damn near gleamed when he caught her doing it. "I'm good," she repeated after far too long of a pause.

"No you're not," he smiled without being mean about it, totally calling her bluff. "We've got breakfast started on the common floor if you're interested. It should be ready in about the time it'll take you to wash up if you want."

"Food could be good," she admitted, and willed her stomach not to growl at the prospect. Food to pad said stomach against the pills she needed to take would be awesome. She wondered just how long they would hold it though, since she kind of thought it might take her a bit to wash up in her current condition. Like, insanely long, and that wasn't even considering getting dressed afterwards.

Steve Rogers apparently learned from the Tony Stark school of life and decided to take a mile when she offered an inch. He stepped right up and then slid right past her into the bathroom, somehow wedging his hugeness through the doorframe without bumping her. "Shower controls are here, and this little guy might be wanted as well," he said, pointing to matching control panels in and out of the stall. He pushed the button in question, and a shelf slid out from the wall at roughly knee-height on her, clearly a bench or a stool of some sort and clearly something she would probably need if she wasn't going to faceplant against the tile.

"Cool," she said, suitably impressed. She wondered if the thing had retractable handholds. Since he had pretty much confirmed that the super smart computer system she was used to poking at in the lab also existed on the residential floors, she figured she could ask discretely after he left and maybe, possibly, save a sliver of pride.

"If you sit, I can help you with your brace," he offered, all pure and earnest-like. At her doubting look, the purity part slipped away, at least somewhat, and he amended, "I could help you with more, but I'll be good, I promise."

She rolled her eyes and hobbled over to the toilet, not missing the way his hands automatically went out as if to catch her even if he let her get there under her own steam. He quickly and efficiently removed the wrap from around her ankle and set it off to the side. She thought that would be that but, again with taking the mile, he actually massaged the sole of her foot, pressing against her arch in just the right place to release the tension that had been growing since they had put the damn thing on.

She resolutely did not moan.

It was a near thing.

She may have, possibly, asked him if he charged by the hour.

He set her foot back down gently like he had not just given her a near orgasmic experience, and warned, "The foot itself might be tender from the brace, so watch your balance. It will take a while before you can put your whole weight on it again, don't rush it."

"You speak like you have some experience with this," she commented, carefully flexing and retracting the offending appendage. "I thought your super-whatever stopped you from sharing these delightful joys with the masses."

He breathed out through his nose in a barely contained chuckle. "I still get injured, but heal much faster. Still have to go through the process though. Everyone else on the team though? They all do it the hard way."

"Except Thor," she amended. The only time she had seen him actually hurt was when he was mortal. He had gotten scratches that healed before he took two steps since then, but nothing serious that she had ever seen, at least not on this planet and at least not that she had been present for.

"Except Thor," he agreed. He stood and offered her his hand to bring her back to her feet, gentleman once more. "I'll go tell the others you'll be down," he said before he left. He even had the audacity to close the bathroom door behind him.

Stripping was actually not that bad despite the fact that she felt like she was coming off of a three day bender and had the concentration and dexterity of a caffeinated squirrel. Trousers fell easily enough once the ties were released and then it was just a matter of stepping out of the loose legs. The top had a weird wrap thing that made it easy to untie while still keeping far more modesty than a standard hospital gown. The sleeves were a bit more tricky, especially the glove parts, but she got them off with minimal pain. She was so going to ask to keep that thing to wear as often as humanly possible. Maybe check to see if it was available in extra colors. The hand things were a bit much for every day use, but the rest of it was stellar and she could so make due. 

She jabbed at the buttons until a display appeared. As an added bonus, said display didn't just list a temp, but also a rough scale to the side as well, letting her decide between scalding her skin or risking hypothermia. She appreciated the practicality, really. She also appreciated the multiple shower heads with variable settings and that, yes, there was a shelf she could use to grip onto to help her with her balance. 

She may have, possibly, pushed a lot of buttons just to see what they could do.

Shampooing was a pain in the ass to do one-handed, even if the hot spray loosened the tightness in her bad shoulder to something more tolerable. The conditioning process was just a mess. Soap was a college try. Eventually though, she figured she had rinsed as much as she possibly could and really couldn't justify staying under her personal waterfall any longer. Even if the fact it was still hot was a wonder to behold in comparison to the little tub back at her place.

She got the thing to turn off and then debated just how the hell to get out and towel off. This was made far simpler when she opened the steamed over glass door to find a redheaded assassin perched on the sink waiting for her.

She damn near tripped back into the shower and had to steady herself with the little bench and handhold. At least Natasha gave her the dignity of not catching her outright. Or laughing. Laughing might have been worse.

"Shit, give a girl some warning!" she exclaimed once she caught her breath again. She took the offered towel both as a modesty thing and as something to hold onto that wasn't slick and slippery.

"Rogers thought you might need help," Natasha said mildly, completely unperturbed. She grabbed a second towel and wrapped it around Darcy before she helped her step out of the tub. "Don't worry, I already have my mark and I'm fairly certain ours won't challenge each other," she said as she offered a hand.

Darcy took it, not at all surprised when there was no reaction. She hobbled towards the toilet, intent on sitting down again, but found herself the victim of a very brusque towel-down first, followed by being offered an actual pair of her real underwear.

"We grabbed a few things from your place; just the necessities," her newfound nursemaid explained. "We aimed for comfort, not style. Stark could probably order an outfit for you and have it here by the time you finish breakfast if needed. He might just do that to show off, really. Also, Barton versus Freckles? I owe you pictures."

Darcy narrowed her eyes and noticed a scratch mark approximately two inches in length along Natasha's inner right wrist. "Frecks totally won, didn't he?" she guessed, unable to suppress her grin.

Natasha smiled, just a quick flicker of her lips. "Clint's calling it a draw," she admitted, her tone letting her opinion on the matter be known. More serious now, she added, "He's also calling a locksmith. The security features of your apartment leave a lot to be desired."

"It's fine," Darcy insisted. She stepped into the offered yoga leggings and tried to figure out when both a bra and zippered sweatshirt had been successfully placed upon her person. She upped her appreciation of Natasha's skills to a whole new level.

"It's really not," came the only somewhat expected response. 

She was finally allowed to sit, and readily took the opportunity. "I have never had any issues. Not even when Jessie got mugged. I think they've seen Thor around and are afraid. Either that or they've cased the place and know I don't have anything worth stealing."

"Not helping your argument," Natasha pointed out. The sling was on now and she was working on the brace.

"Rarely do," she agreed.

An elegant red eyebrow was raised in her direction. "How did you ever manage to defend your thesis?"

"Panel was made up of straight guys, lesbians, my advisor, and a guy who got plastered with me the weekend before," Darcy said ruefully. It was a lie, but one she used quite often with her detractors. She looked down at her ample assets and added, "My girls have never let me down."

Natasha huffed a laugh, clearly not buying it for a second but appreciating the effort. "Now," she said, looking down with a critical eye. "What are we going to do about your hair?"

Darcy tugged regretfully at a damp strand. "Please don't cut it?" She didn't go for the puppy dog eyes, but it was a near thing.

"Never an option," Natasha promised.

Miraculously, they made it to breakfast just as the others were starting to sit down. Natasha had worked some sort of magic with her tangled locks and, while not yet dry, they were at least knot-free and out of the way of both her face and her sling. The wheelchair was a requirement if she was going to get that far after her ever-so eventful morning, but the way Natasha "accidentally" let her see her own tiny soul mark across the curve of her shoulder when adjusting her damp shirt was most definitely not.

Darcy had a newfound respect for the guy who brought her tea the night before.

There was still the steps down to manage and she fully planned on doing it herself. Slowly, but on her own. Bucky McSoulmark didn't even vocally object, he simply scooped her up again and sat her in the appointed chair. She was in no way surprised when he took the one next to her. In the very least, he went through the motions well. Old school, but respectful to a degree. Maybe they could find a way to connect on a project after all.

Food was good. Coffee was better. She made a grabby hand at a mug, only to have it pushed out of reach. She frowned, right up until Thor set an iced coffee roughly the size of her head in front of her.

"Jane thought the straw may be appreciated," he said as he took his seat again. Sure enough, his match had a giant cup of sugary goodness in front of her as well. Darcy was proud Janie had finally learned to take advantage of something or someone, even if it regrettably took an injury to get her there.

"How much of that is coffee and how much of that is sugar?" the guy at her side asked doubtingly. He still kind of grumbled, but he had made an attempt at small talk and she felt the need to at least reciprocate.

"The exact perfect ratio of both," she assured him, sipping away.

There was so much food to choose from and she simply didn't know where to start. The eggs loaded with everything looked good, as did the pancakes and waffles. French toast was a favorite, especially since they remembered to dust it with powdered sugar before she could drench it in syrup. There was fruit and bread and toast as well, a plate piled high with bacon and another one with sausage. Part of her wanted to try it all, and part of her reminded herself of the time she kind of tried that at a fair and regretted it for long hours after.

She watched the others load their plates and dig in with gusto, no standing on formalities when you never knew when you might be called away she supposed. 

"We can pass you whatever you want," Tea Guy from the night before offered. "Though you might have to fight for the bacon - protein is popular around here. I'll go easy on you this time since you're injured." 

She held her plate aloft in her good hand and said, "Hit me with what you've got. Bonus points if some of that French toast makes it my way." It seemed the right thing to say if the smiles were anything to go by. It also meant she didn't have to decide for herself yet, still too overwhelmed to really make the important decisions like that.

She ended up with a sliver of omelet, two pieces of bacon, a piece of sausage, some melon of random origin, and not one but two honking pieces of French toast. It turned out the bread was also the thick good type, browned to perfection at the sides. It also turned out she was crap at cutting it with solely a fork, and she really hoped no one noticed she was incapable of such a simple task. She stuck to the other things for now, knowing she could get Jane to do it for her if she asked and that she just had to wait for the others to be distracted to do so.

Or maybe not.

She finished her melon, which was surprisingly tasty, to find her French toast was split into neat little bite sized pieces. She looked around for the culprit, someone she could maybe bribe to hide her shame, but found none. No one seemed to even be paying that much attention to her, focused on their own food and own conversations. A glance to her right showed a syrup-covered knife balanced on the edge of a plate. Since the Buckster had shied away from anything dripping with sugary goodness it was odd to say the least.

She nudged him lightly, elbow knocking against something far stronger than muscle. "Thank you," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth before she dug in.

He tilted his head slightly, but offered no further acknowledgement.

People bussed their own dishes once finished, most disappearing to go about their day with a wave and good wishes. She reached for hers to find it already gone, Jane's as well. Movement to the side showed James with a stack of multiple plates and silverware, and Steve with several glasses and mugs.

"Royal treatment for the injured?" she guessed.

Jane had been seated just to her left, and shook her head. "Those two toe the line between personal responsibility and chivalry. It's awesome. They helped me set up one of the arrays, held the nearly two hundred pounds for an hour, all the while lecturing me on the cleanliness of my workspace."

"To be fair, it is a mess," Darcy pointed out. 

"Well, yeah," Jane's agreed easily enough. "But I know where everything is, so who cares?"

"Erik that time he got electrocuted when your coffee fell on a loose cord?"

"It wasn't loose, it was frayed..." Jane corrected. After a considering pause, she added, "And possibly not fully plugged in since I think I had tripped on it right before."

Darcy leaned back in her chair feeling loose and relaxed herself, and maybe a little numb from the pain pills she had taken with the last of her coffee. It was currently a race to see which chemical would overrule the other in her body and if she'd pass out or bounce off the walls when the caffeine kicked in. "What's the plan, ma'am?" she asked as she tried to stretch out her legs. One went, one resisted movement of any kind, and she figured it could be worse so she called it a draw.

Jane tried to spin in her chair and seemed disappointed when it didn't move and she had to bodily turn to face her friend. Twirly chairs had been a requirement when Stark had asked what lab equipment they might need. "It's Saturday," she replied as if to a small child.

Darcy frowned before her brain put the pieces together - the pills were definitely having an influence at this point. Or the fact her entire worldview had been turned upside down. They had gone out for lunch on Friday because Darcy had initiated Fresh Air Fridays as an attempt to get Jane out of the tower occasionally. Jane was far more likely to fall for something if it had a title. Stark had one-upped her and locked down the lab on weekends save for special access that had to be reviewed and approved. Considering late night breakthrough benders totally counted in his book, and considering Jane technically had access to her research from any terminal or tablet, it actually wasn't that much of a restriction overall. That said, they had spent the last two weekends mainlining bad reality television shows and mocking the ridiculous situations the people found themselves in.

"Tiny Houses or Ice Road Truckers?" Darcy offered.

"Can we watch Iron Chef instead?" Jane wheedled.

Darcy sighed dramatically. The last time Jane had watched a single episode of that, she managed to convince herself she could cook. She had set a pan of water on fire. Darcy was still trying to figure out how. She was pretty sure Stark had security protocols in place against that, or at least did now, so she relented and asked, "Classic or the American version? And you have to promise me you won't try to make polenta again. Someone's cuisine might reign supreme, but it sure as hell ain't yours."

Jane took that as her due, and soon enough they found themselves ensconced in the room with the comfy couches and even comfier blankets. Captain Protective and his merry man caught them both trying to make a break for the elevators to set up camp in Jane's apartment, and put the kabosh on that real quick. Not that they were actually moving quickly, but whatever. The communal lounge was promised to them and their needs and even came with a few extra amenities.

Darcy appreciated the larger television, and the way the L-shaped couch meant she could lounge with her leg supported while still being close enough to elbow Jane when needed, but wasn't sure if she appreciated the cabana boys at their beck and call on what was traditionally a girls-only event. That said, when she mentioned that the cookie-fancy-something ice cream one contestant was making looked good, she found herself with a bowl of Ben & Jerry's and a 1940's earnest apology that it was the closest they could get on short notice but they could probably get even closer from the store if it wasn't good enough.

She decided it would be really easy to get used to that sort of treatment. Even easier to abuse, so she refrained.

Thor barged in around episode three of the marathon and looked amongst those present before he asked, "Has your ritual now been opened to others?"

She assured him it had, mainly because she was powerless against the remorseful eyes she was presented with, and Jane scootched over to let Thor take up his half of the couch. One look at the way the two other men sat in chairs to the side though, and he must have assumed that was what was acceptable instead. He pulled up one of the recliners like it was a folding chair and perched himself delicately on the edge of the cushion.

She gave him credit for waiting until what would have been a commercial break to speak, but then took that credit away when she actually connected with what words he said. "Is this the time in which you are to place ice or heat upon your injuries?" he asked with far too much innocence.

She hated it when he used his powers for evil. 

It was decided that eating ice cream did not count as icing her shoulder, and a very strict rotation started. Her only consolation in this was that Jane was not immune and was required to ice her wrist as well with one of the crap-ton of ice packs available. She didn't even want to know why the supposed communal relaxation area had that many.

"Clint," Deadly Redhead said when she curled up in the spot Thor had given up. A pause, and then she added, "Occasionally Stark, but that usually involves duct tape and brute force."

At the next episode break, she sent the males of the party to go make tea for the females under the guise that they may need to warm up after the ice. They went readily enough and, considering she sent them for a type that Darcy now knew was not immediately available in the communal floor's kitchen and only in the shared oasis area by the labs, it gave them at least a few minutes' reprieve.

Natasha produced a flask out of nowhere and offered them each a drought. It was strong, and possibly as deadly as she was. "It'll make dealing with your nursemaids easier," she commented after promising they were on weak enough pain meds to be fine as it was only a single shot. Darcy's leg went back to being pleasantly numb but she could still form coherent thoughts after the possible poison, so she took her at her word.

"I take it you're used to them?" Jane guessed.

Natasha huffed less than delicately and shook her head. "They tried this with me once and only once," was all she would say on the matter. She then tossed them some of the incredibly strong mints from the bowl on the table and Darcy was smart enough to chomp on one to get rid of the vodka-breath. "They do this with anyone on the team who is unfortunate enough to get injured. Though, to be fair, the soul mark factor has increased the intensity more than a little."

Darcy made a face, and not just from the mint. Those were actually pretty good, so she munched on another and asked, "But I thought he didn't want a soulmate? He pretty much said so flat to my face. He's not one of the guys who thinks he has to go through the motions, is he? Pretend everything is fine and dandy when he really wants to go running for the hills? 'Cause I'm fine with him being a hillbilly, really I am. Might miss the hotness factor, but that's what the Internet is for, you know?"

Now Natasha made a face, only it was less pitying and more amused. "Oh, koshechka, you are adorable," she said as if that made any sense whatsoever.

The guys returned and two of the three had the audacity to sniff the air suspiciously. Natasha held up her flask invitingly and earned narrowed eyes from one of the suspicious. Thor simply took it for the offer it was and downed probably more than she had bargained for before he gave it back.

So they watched more trash tv and sipped at giant mugs of tea and munched on mints to continue their cover, all the while Darcy trying to figure out why an assassin was calling her a kitten. (She had done plenty of research on names and had narrowed down the options to six versions of "kitty" in different dialects prior to deciding to go with the obvious when she named Freckles. Thor had been less than helpful as Allspeak simply made him repeat the words "baby feline" for every option. When she later learned Google Translate had failed her because she was not used to gendered language options, she was kinda happy with her final choice.)

Eventually, the whole kitten thing got to her, as in her own kitten languishing at home without her. Also, she needed to take a break of a different sort because that was a lot of tea, but it came down to the need to actually get up from her spot on the couch and escape the people who undoubtedly meant well and she would feel awful about when she eventually punched.

They let her use the facilities, supporting her to a common bathroom nearby and reluctantly standing outside the door to wait for her when she had some choice words on the matter.

They did not let her go home.

Bucky McJames-a-lot argued that she wasn't healed enough to take care of herself yet and some other things that she didn't fully pay attention to. It was likely the most words he had said to her since they met, but she was distracted by the pretty. Really, she couldn't even pretend she was lip reading, but it wasn't like like she raised her eyes much and the words were pointless anyway, so she just let him go for a bit and planned to ignore him.

Harder to ignore was the sheer amount of earnestness Captain Please-Just-Call-Me-Steve used when he joined the fray. She felt it would be unpatriotic or something. She did look away from his pouting lips, but only to some seriously sad blue eyes and she knew she was damn close to caving.

"Compromise?" Natasha offered. Darcy did not even try to ignore her. Either did the menfolk. She addressed Darcy first and suggested, "You stay here until your appointment on Monday. By then you will have recovered enough to handle the worst of it on your own and can decide for yourself if additional assistance is required. Barton and I will check on your cat in the interim."

"Hell beast!" came a correction from the direction of the kitchen, and Darcy fought not to smile. She had seen the scratch down Tea Boy's arm. And the one across the back of his hand. And a suspicious red mark disappearing underneath his collar. Apparently he had been dumb enough to try to cuddle Frecks without his permission. Non-con cuddling was a no-go as far as her cat was concerned.

Natasha continued as though not interrupted, this time addressing the mother hens. "She should no longer need her sling by Monday as it was a precautionary measure only. She will also be reduced to standard painkillers and remain far more lucid. At that time, should she agree, you may accompany her to her residence to determine if there are any needs to be met. Agreed?"

Buck-the-Protocols-but-not-the-Chivalry had the audacity to open his mouth like he was going to complain, but rapidly shut it at a single look from Darcy's new hero. A raised eyebrow later and both men reluctantly nodded and even grumbled something that could roughly be called assent.

So Darcy spent longer than intended in the lap of luxury, watching bad television and eating awesome foods and barely having her feet touch the plushly carpeted floor. She did have a moment's pause to ask herself why she was protesting this treatment, before she remembered that most men in her life were asshats and she was far too independent for her own good. Natasha helped her with all the things Jane swore she could have done, all the while whispering that Jane herself was getting the royal overprotective treatment from Thor as well, so not to feel bad.

As promised, Monday morning rolled around bright and true. Breakfast was smaller and quieter, many people having far more set routines during the week even if they were essentially on call every waking moment and most sleeping ones too. The duo that she was tempted to call The Boys were of course there, but they really didn't do much other than keep her caffeinated and make sure her food was bite sized. Which is why she was highly suspicious of them both.

Jane needed a followup on her wrist as well, standard procedure and all that, so the two of them went down to Medical together. Jane was annoyed that she needed to keep the brace on because broken bones didn't heal overnight, but not nearly as annoyed as when she found out it was highly suggested she limit her working hours while she healed. The doctor was used to the Avengers though, so it was mainly just a precaution and a warning to keep it nine to five. A warning to be enforced by Stark's crazy AI she later found out, but said AI might have been given a nudge by someone else, so she relented. Kind of.

As for Darcy, Natasha had predicted correctly and the sling was allowed to come off. Turns out immobilization actually really did hinder the healing process in some cases, and they started her on some simple exercises that hurt like hell immediately. Her knee was given a super lightweight fancy wrap to support the ligaments as they healed, and the brace on her ankle was there until the doctor said otherwise. She didn't have work restrictions as much as movement restrictions and, really, since her body currently protested the attempt to violate those, she decided she should probably follow along for at least a little while.

The sad thing was that the good drugs went away. The good thing was that so did any mention of a wheelchair. She was given a crutch to help with her balance instead. It might suck to hobble around, but it meant far more freedom and she embraced that with (somewhat) open arms. Given the chair had been used in one of the rambles about how she couldn't take care of herself, she figuratively jumped at the opportunity and insisted on being taken home. Sooner rather than later.

The two soldiers of the super sort protested, but Thor thought it was a sound enough request. They cited the need to make sure she followed doctor's orders correctly and she cited the fact she was a civilian and not bound by any Avengers-based decorum. She may have also used the word "kidnapped" a few times. She may be comfy as hell, but she was technically being held against her will, and details were totally arguable points. She was very good at arguing.

Thor offered to escort her home, but Mr. Soulmate wanted nothing of the sort. Natasha made faces behind his back, or at least quirked her lips a lot which was close enough, but the end result was that she got to go home, Mr. Man got to follow and pretend he was helpful, and Jane got to text her a lot of inappropriate comments that she hid away on the ride. 

She still wasn't sure where Captain Fricken America fell into all of this, but apparently he was tethered by some sort of invisible rope or something and had attached himself to create an entourage of two.

At least Captain Fricken America kept an impassive look on his face when they pulled up to her little brick and whatever building. Buckaroo looked decidedly less than impressed. They helped her out though and, when Stark's driver didn't immediately leave, she took it as a sign they would be on their merry way sooner rather than later.

She hobbled with her single crutch all the way to the building door, but when they saw the elevator was down and the sign saying so was literally rusted over, she found herself swept up into some seriously strong arms while her lackeys climbed the steps so she wouldn't have to.

She fished in her purse for her keys when they finally put her down, but received a shake of a blond head for her efforts. Possibly a brunet one too, but he was standing behind her instead of in front of her, so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. A bright, shiny, and new key was fished out of some pleasantly tight hero jeans, and that's when she discovered Clint had actually followed through with his locksmith threat and far more than a deadbolt was replaced.

He waited until the door successfully shut behind her to explain, "Looks like a standard lock, but there's a chip inside. Any attempt to force entry or pick the lock and the tower is notified."

Fancy, but a little over the top. Much like some weird extra thing attached to her windows. Windows that were far cleaner than they had a right to be. She idly wondered if the glass itself had been replaced, but doubted given the timeframe. "Same concept?" she guessed.

Sir Buckenstein was busy glaring out said windows, so his tether replied, "Pretty much, though no key is needed in case you need a quick escape. Biometrics, with certain people allowed overrides."

"Awesome," she muttered under her breath, not caring if they didn't like the sarcasm. She had more important things to worry about anyway, such as the blur of orange that came barreling at her. "Frecks!" she exclaimed happily. 

She propped the crutch against the kitchen table so that she could catch him properly. He leapt from floor to chair to table to right into her arms, purring like a Geiger counter the whole time. He nuzzled into her and she kissed the top of his furry little head before she sighed contentedly and said, "Missed you too, furball." 

There was a guffaw of totally unmitigated laughter, and she swiveled to have a highly amused national icon ask, "That's the hell beast?"

Okay, so Freckles was not the most intimidating looking thing on the face of the planet. He was small enough to damn near fit in one hand and was approximately ninety percent orange fuzz spotted with little brownish dots along his nose and between his ears. He was impossibly tiny and weighed barely anything at all. Unassuming and innocent were the words to best fit the image he presented.

So Frecks decided to show the non-believer how he earned his nickname.

The Hand of Freedom extended to offer a scritch behind the tiny ears, and was offered something else entirely instead as Frecks may be ninety percent fuzz, but he was also ten percent claws and teeth.

She really had not expected Captain America to swear quite that profusely. Then again, she had also not expected the guy who had grunted and growled his way into her life to bust up laughing, damn near uncontrollably.

"Non-con affection, he doesn't approve," she explained, successfully doing that which he had just attempted.

"I see that now," came a very sullen response. She offered him a tissue for his bleeding hand, and he took it gratefully. "So he's your built-in security system?" he guessed.

Darcy shrugged, and then remembered why it sucked to do so. "He's protective," she admitted. Frecks butted his head against her hand and she released him to prowl. "No idea where Thor found him, and I do mean that in an intergalactic sense. He's very well trained though, doesn't scratch the furniture, uses the litter box like a champ and all that jazz. Couldn't ask for a better pet."

That reminded her of how long she had been gone, and she peeked at the little plastic box off to the side. Natasha and Clint were totally her new bros though because apparently they had taken care of that. Actually, given that she had a studio smaller than the guest suite she had been using, she was able to glance around pretty much the whole thing and saw that they had cleaned far more than cat crap. There were no bras on the floor and even her bed was made, which was a totally foreign concept in her life. She definitely owed them cookies or something.

She didn't, however, owe the two men in front of her much at all, their overprotectiveness outweighing their helpfulness in droves. "So, like, thanks for the assist and all but I'm good here," she tried with less than subtle grace. 

"Natalia says your cupboards are empty. Make a list of things you need and we'll pick them up so you don't have to go out on that leg of yours," Barnesy suggested. It even seemed kind, right up until he added, "Foods, treats, working heat, that sort of thing."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her crutch, limping over to where he stood at the window next to the barely sputtering radiator. One good whack set it off though, and it was humming along fine in no time. "I'm good," she said with saccharine sweetness. "I can live off of delivery just fine."

His eyes bugged out in a truly amusing way. She couldn't quite tell which of her apparent infractions set him off, but figured he'd express his concerns in the polite, adult manner that he had used this far.

To her complete and utter lack of surprise, he ranted, "We're concerned about your security and you're just going to invite strangers to walk right up to your door? You going to remind them to come armed, or are you going to just hand them weapons when they get here?"

She held up a hand, and he actually paused enough to let her have her say. It was probably something left over from his days of having actual manners and all that crap, but she was perfectly fine abusing it to fit her needs. "First, they are not just strangers, they are strangers with food," she corrected, mainly just to see if his eyes could get any bigger. "Second? I didn't even invite you two losers and you barged right in so, really, I've already set the precedent for the night."

"Darcy..." Captain Righteousness complained. He looked disappointed, probably in her. An American icon was standing in her apartment and giving her shade. An American icon that she had not invited was standing in her apartment and giving her shade. 

She was less than shaded.

"No, really, I don't care," she said as emphatically as she could. "The universe deciding that we need matching tats does not mean that you have obtained proprietary ownership of my goods and/or services. You yourself said you didn't want them anyway, so what's with the great big game of pretend? We can figure out what the great plan is for us later, but right now I want some lo mein, some of the wine from the fridge, and some fucking privacy."

She was pissed, and finally let it color her tone versus holding it back. She had tried being subtle, it didn't work. She had a life and it didn't involve them. It hadn't before and didn't need to now and she was perfectly fine with that. Sergeant Soulmate had seemed like he was as well right up until he didn't and she really did not have the energy to figure that shit out right now. So, instead she snapped and he slunk his shoulders down and she in no way felt victorious.

"I'll order your dinner, no ties attached," came a rather dejected offer from the intruder that wasn't actually outwardly sulking. A tiny tinge of hopefulness colored the request of, "But I do ask that you make a list of the things you need, before or after you eat, so that we can get them for you before morning."

That was an actual decent compromise, especially considering she won food with the addition of food. Of course, the grump next to her protested, "You can't have wine with painkillers."

She turned on her uninjured heel and leveled him a glare, pleased when he looked a tiny bit cowed. "The hell I can't. I'm off of the muscle relaxants and potential narcotics and down to fucking ibuprofen. I want wine. I get wine. If Janie was here, I'd get tequila shots so just be happy I'm content with the downgrade." She looked him up and down at the end to let him know she considered the downgrade was more than just in the alcohol department. 

The slump became even more defined.

Thirty minutes later, and she had her lo mein and a mug of the leftover Riesling from the fridge because she didn't actually have a wine glass to serve it in. Truth be told, she wasn't even certain if she had any glasses made of glass in her place, but that was neither here nor there. She only had to put her chopsticks down to drink, and usually took the opportunity to break off a sliver of chicken to toss to Frecks.

Far more than a single takeout container littered her table though, because, icon or no, Mr. America was a sneak. He had ordered enough for everyone, and Darcy learned firsthand just how much super soldiers packed away during their meals. She also learned that neither soldier in question tried to stop her from stealing the cream cheese wontons, and took full advantage of that fact.

With food in her belly and blood sugar above zilch, she found she was a tiny bit more willing to take advantage of their offer to pick up some groceries. And by take advantage, she meant let them insist on paying for it all as well. Or possibly Stark, but she was fairly certain this was all them. Considering she had to put up with their over-exuberant asses, she considered it hazard pay.

"So, we've got milk, bread, cereal, and dish soap," Captain Tethered read off of the Hello Kitty notepad. She found it odd that he was being the reasonable and supportive one while her actual soulmate sulked into his fried rice. "Did you mean dish soap for the sink or dishwasher?" 

She swallowed a chunk that was a mix of onion and pepper and replied, "Sink. The dishwasher hasn't worked since I moved in, unless you count as a dish rack." She may have, at times, possibly just put the clean dishes there to dry and selected from those until they needed to be washed again.

Surprisingly, she didn't get the throbbing-vein-in-the-forehead look for that one, but it was possible they were still used to the 1940's hand wash methods themselves. She was proud of herself for not congratulating him for knowing what a dishwasher even was.

"Anything else?" he asked, pen at the ready.

She made a face while she thought. "Depends on if there's any Nutella left. Can't have bread without it."

Grumpy McGrumpypants paused at that one. "What's Nutella?" he asked cautiously. He probably figured it was something elicit and/or alcoholic at this point.

"Dude..." She put down her chopsticks for this. "Nutella is a gift from the gods. Like, seriously, I want to ask Thor who in Asgard created this delightful combo of chocolate and hazelnuts. I had a jar in the cupboard next to the fridge. Given that you've behaved yourself for a full twenty minutes, you are allowed one teaspoon's worth if there's any left."

He made a face, but was clearly intrigued. He set down his own chopsticks to scavenge, and found the jar exactly where she said it would be. There wasn't much left, but he took a clean spoon from the dishwasher and tried it as offered. His eyes lit up in the first thing that hadn't resembled a scowl or laughing at his friend all night. "Stevie, she needs this. A lot of this," he said around licking the spoon clean.

She stole another wonton in payment for introducing him to the little jar of heaven, and watched with amusement as "Nutella x 2" was added to Hello Kitty's thought bubble.

A handful of more items were added to the list but, most surprisingly, was that Mr. Marked was the one who insisted on going out to get the goods. "He's totally going to case the neighborhood, isn't he?" she guessed when he left.

"Probably," came a rather mild response. Apparently having an ex-assassin super soldier wander about and judge a place was perfectly fine in his book.

The remaining super soldier that was probably never actually an assassin took to cleaning up the meager amount of dishes they had used. He rolled up his sleeves and set to work in the sink. When she attempted to stand to help, he simply shook his head and took her mug from her to add to the pile.

She still didn't have her glasses, her spare pair buried somewhere in her bathroom or maybe the closet, but she could just make out a circular red mark on his inner arm just below his right elbow. It was all the more noticeable when he dabbed it dry along with his hands when he finished. She tried not to blink at the knowledge that Captain America not only had found his soulmate, but still lived alone and fought the good fight and all that.

She couldn't help but wonder if his match was the infamous Peggy Carter from the days of old. Then again, for all she knew it was a random chorus girl or some schlump he bumped into on the street or saved in a foxhole decades ago. She started thinking up dramatic rescue scenarios and doe-eyed grateful women, but none of those answered the question as to why the hell he wasn't with said match, either now or in the history books. Maybe that was why he was so nice to her now? His own match was dead and gone and so he found himself at a loss, left floundering and helping out hapless others who didn't know what to do when presented with their own match. Or maybe hapless was the right word and he was making up for a bestie that didn't have a clue? There were so many options and she kinda wanted to know which one was the truth even as she knew she had no right to do so.

"How bad are your eyes?" 

The words drew her out of her reverie and made her blink several times, effectively ruining the coyness of her cheerful, "Worse than I'm willing to admit without my glasses, why?"

He just nodded as though that answered something and made a half-assed attempt at covering for it by guessing, "So, headache? We can take you to get a new pair tomorrow if you need. Not sure how long those things take, but better to at least get the process rolling, right?"

She lowered her hand from where she had been massaging her temple, discarding several retorts before she gave in and blurted, "Why are you doing this? All of this? I mean, it's nice and all, but in no way necessary."

He sat down in the chair he had so recently vacated, somehow closer now as he looked her directly in the eyes. The guy had charisma, and that whole physical presence thing that made you actually want to listen to what he said, she had to give him at least that. "Bucky is all I've got left of my past. He knew, knows, a part of me no one left alive ever will. You're a part of his life now, whether either one of you stubborn mules will admit it. The least I can do for someone who has saved my skin time and time again is to stop him from handing a piece of himself away before he even knows what it's worth." He paused now, and he was close enough that she could see the way the edges of his eyes crinkled with mischief. "Plus, if it means I get to help out a pretty dame, how can I say no?"

She felt herself blush even as she snorted at the corniness of it all. "That was bad, man. Like cornfields in Iowa bad." She sniffed at the ridiculous puppy dog eyes he offered, not sure if they were part of his game or just part of him. "You do realize that this could be seen as mackin' on your best friend's girl, right? Isn't that a little less than righteous for America's icon?"

Now it was his turn to snort, just a huff as he quirked his lips to let her know what he thought of that. "Thought you turned down being his girl?"

"Only after he turned me down first," she defended herself. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, to be honest. Refusal to admit the bond at the same time doing all the old time chivalrous bullshit. Way to send mixed signals.

"That's just because Buck's got the intelligence of a box of rocks," Steve said easily enough. The insult slid off his tongue as though he had used it countless times before. "He wasn't sure what it meant to get a new bond after... well, after everything else. I told him it was a sign of new chances in the new world."

"He totally hit you for that, didn't he?" she guessed, nearly picturing the act.

"Yep," he said with absolutely no shame.

"Seriously: Iowa," she told him. She shook her head with mock ruefulness. "They say you're a Brooklyn boy, but with the amount of corn you come by naturally..."

He tossed the towel at her with a laugh, and it was only then that she realized he had released her hands to do so. Hands that she hadn't even noticed he was holding. Hands that he had grabbed without a care in the world. Hands that hadn't been covered by anything at all. 

The 1940's mindset was going to be the death of her.

Her mind drifted back but she couldn't be certain if he had done so earlier or not, memory all hazy and confudled-like about their different interactions since they had first been introduced. She didn't think he had but, really, those were some decent drugs she was on that first day or so. Either that, or the concussion hit her harder than she first thought.

She tried to subtly glance at her hands and wrists to see if he had left any mark behind, and wasn't sure why she was disappointed to find nothing there. His face closed down slightly, friendly smile still in place but far less of a gleam in his eyes. 

He grabbed the towel back and busied himself with folding it just right while he suggested, "Why don't you go change for bed? Buck'll be back soon enough, and that way someone will be here if you need the help."

She looked at him doubtingly. She didn't question that he'd be a gentleman about the whole thing, just help only being available for a limited time. "You guys really going to leave me to my lonesome tonight?"

He tilted his head in consideration. "I can promise that I will should you request it. I can't promise you won't find Bucky out on a fire escape at three in the morning," he answered honestly.

She was in no way surprised to find the truth of it come to pass. It was hard to get comfortable with one whole side - front and back - out of commission. Mix that with the fact that Freckles kept roaming versus his usual curling up at her hip and everything was out of sorts. With a huff, she decided to see just what he found so interesting outside her window.

There was her own personal assassin, seated on the metal scaffolding as though he didn't have a care in the world, dark clothing blending in with the lack of working streetlights but metal hand glinting with the reflection of some source she couldn't quite make out. The light flickered slightly, so she assumed it was probably a neighbor's television.

It took her a few tries to figure out the window, be she eventually popped it open and demanded, "Get your ass in here, doofus."

He climbed in with far more grace than she had used to shuffle the few steps, and shrugged as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Nice night. The smell of drunks almost distracted me from the pot dealers."

"It ain't just pot," she muttered under her breath, knowing he'd hear her anyway. Louder now, she asked, "What the hell were you doing out there anyway?"

He shrugged, again, and looked everywhere but at her. "Failed at first impressions, but the least I can do is sort out how to keep you safe."

She resisted the urge to bang her head on something solid. The recent concussion helped. "You weren't made my soulmate just to be some glorified and entirely unnecessary bodyguard," she protested.

He scratched at his scruff, finding movement on the street below to be of extreme interest. It was probably just Carmen coming back from her late shift. "I don't know, doll, wasn't that one of the postulates in that fancy paper of yours?"

"You read my thesis?" she asked doubtingly.

He shrugged, an easy roll of his shoulders that she was in no way jealous of. "The nice lady that pays for everything suggested it and I thought it might help me understand your views on this whole match thing a little better."

She shifted her weight as her knee started to complain about being used at whatever ungodly hour it currently was. "And what did you think?" she prompted.

"Think you're nuts," he smirked. The smirk became a smile though, slightly soft around the edges. "But you might be my kind of nuts." Before she could get him to elaborate on that, he offered out a hand and said, "Come on, doll, let's get you back to bed before you undo all the doc's good work."

She acquiesced, mainly because she damn near fell over when she yawned. He even had the gaul to prop a pillow at her side to support her and tuck the blankets up around her shoulders just the way she liked but hadn't been able to manage on her own with her limited maneuverability. He made no move to take the spot next to her, and settled in on her beat up couch instead.

A few minutes later, with her eyes too heavy to keep open, she heard a muttered, "Yeah, yeah, furball, come here." She fell asleep to the sound of purring and Frecks decidedly not at her side, and tried not to think about that too hard.


	3. Chapter 3

She awoke to the smell of coffee and the soft clink of plates. Frecks was meowing plaintively, and awarded with a whispered, "I'd feed ya if I knew where your food was kept."

"Cupboard next to the sink," she called around a yawn.

"The one tied shut with string?" her interloper confirmed.

She nodded, then realized he might not actually be able to see her. "Yeah, he's a smart little shit," she replied. Speaking of seeing, she grabbed her spare glasses she had finally dug out last night and pushed them on before she headed for the kitchen, hoping to stave off a headache caused by more than just lack of caffeine. "Whatcha doing?" she asked when it was clear she had interrupted something.

"Trying to let you sleep in and make you something vaguely edible," he replied. "Did you know that toaster of yours might well be older than me?"

"It's still usable," she protested. "Just make sure you pop it up before the bread burns and then unplug it so the counter doesn't catch fire and you're golden."

She reached for a mug from the dishwasher to fill with coffee, and was tsked at like a small child. "Sit down and I'll get it for you so you don't scald yourself," the mother hen chided.

She did as told, mainly because he had a point what with her balance being less than prime. She couldn't help the grumbled, "You do realize that this is my place, right? Like, I live here and make the rules?"

He slid her chair in for her, careful of her outstretched leg, and used the same almost-but-not-quite condescending tone when he agreed, "Of course, doll." He placed her unfortunately only three-fourths full mug of coffee in front of her and moved to return to his self-assigned task, but she grabbed at his still extended arm instead.

She knew he was all assassin trained and that she only had her hands on him because he let her, just as she knew he was standing perfectly still to let her have her look. Much like his tether from the night before, his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, the small red star that started this mess clearly visible against his inner wrist where she had first swatted him, skin ever so slightly paler in the center, just like hers. Also like his tether was another mark, this one circular and so much clearer than the one she had glimpsed at the night before without her glasses. She didn't even question it when the connection snapped into place and she damn near accused, "You're his soulmate."

He didn't try to take his arm back, not even when her fingers hovered above the concentric circles just below his inner elbow, an intimacy frowned upon in polite society to say the least. If someone did not wear your mark, if your mark and theirs were not a match, it was beyond rude to touch them without explicit permission of all involved. It simply wasn't done. She wasn't sure how this translated to those with multiple marks as society tended to gloss over the mere existence of such things so the rules were fuzzy to say the least. 

"One of them," he agreed, voice far gruffer than it had been a minute ago. He cleared his throat and almost smiled when he said, "Of course the punk's mark was a target, why wouldn't it be? Throwing himself into danger like he's nothing more than that damned shield of his."

She let go and let her hands fall to her lap, so many questions answered even as even more were asked, including why he thought it looked like a target when she thought it looked like the infamous shield. "But..."

He ignored her confusion, maybe on purpose and maybe because he was caught up in his own memories. "Found the idiot getting pounded on in a back alley. This was before he was the big lug he is now. He's dripping blood and not giving up and I step in all concerned-like. Bullies tend to run when they realize their target might have backup. Anyway, I reach down to help pull him up out of the trash, and there you have it."

"This wasn't in the history books," she sighed, shaking her head as she tried to come to terms with the new reality she was presented with. Not to mention just where the hell she fit in with this reality.

"Didn't need to be," he shrugged. His tone played that it was nothing, but his eyes betrayed his true thoughts on the matter. "The SSR knew what with those detailed records of every scratch and mole, but it was easy enough to keep out of the news reels. When they were selling him like a commodity, they needed for him to seem obtainable, so the Captain America uniform covered him with sleeves. We just made sure no cameras caught him unaware when the propaganda films were made of the Commandos. They knew, of course, couldn't keep something like that from them. Supported us, blamed us for doing stupid shit for each other, and never breathed a word of the dear Cap already being partnered up to those who didn't need to know."

"And yours?" she prompted.

There was a pause, and she wasn't sure if he'd answer. Wasn't sure if she pushed where she had no right to do so. Eventually, he said, "I was a background character, didn't matter if my mark was covered or not, even though it usually was. When I... when I was taken, no one made the connection. They probably figured whoever it was was either dead and gone or no longer looking so they never thought to try to remove it." His smile, when it came, was as brittle as it was feral. "Was their undoing, really. Would have recognized Stevie with or without the mark, it just kind of sealed the deal, you know?"

She nodded even though she really didn't. This was her first and only time personally dealing with a mark and the connection it made despite all of her research, and it so was not going along with the schoolbooks. She really didn't want to sound selfish, but couldn't help it when she asked, "So, where does that leave me?" She wasn't about to challenge a bond of the ages, but she needed to know what roll she was to play in all of this, if any. She just wished her voice hadn't been so damned shaky when she asked. Adding guilt was never in anyone's best interests, least of all two people who had enough of it already.

This time though, the smile seemed far more genuine. "You go wherever you want to go, darling," he promised. "Like that paper of yours said, you're in no way beholden to us but we'd like it if you'd stick around and let us do the same. The universe seems to think we'd do well together, so why not see what it's got planned for us?"

She noticed the sheer amount of plurals he was using and guessed, "Because you two come as a packaged deal?" Before he could respond to that though, and because the answer to that was obvious anyway, she continued, "I know you were opposed to even the thought of me, so please don't feel obligated to force yourself, or Captain Fricken America, into something you really don't want just to fit some societal norm because, really, there's no way this would ever fit the standard model. Legislatures have crumbled over the moresome debate even though it happens far too often now to have been unheard of ever before. I get that I don't fit, and can be fine with that, really I can, just don't try to force a trio into a spot made for a duo out of some sort of outdated feeling of morality or some crap like that."

He leaned close now and took her hands between his own, the metal slightly cooler than she had expected but also far more lifelike than she would have imagined. "Doll, I need you to believe me when I say I never didn't want you. You're smart and gorgeous and have attitude in spades. I just never thought..." He paused and shook his head, jaw working silently for a moment before he found the words. "Steve and I have been through hell and back and have been trying to fit the pieces together into something roughly called life. Sometimes it works and sometimes failure isn't strong enough of a word to describe the aftermath. Never did I think that there could be more out there, another piece to make this broken old soldier a little more whole. That, maybe he and I struggled so much because there was still something missing, something we never knew existed so we didn't think to look for it. I think we found that now."

Her eyes did not water because she did not let them. "Seems like this world has plans for you yet, Mr. Barnes," she sniffed.

"Bucky, please? Or James?" he asked. He let go of her hand and swiped at her cheek so she wouldn't have to before he pleaded, "Please don't cry, I'm not so bad I swear. Assassin aside, I do have my good points. And I didn't mean to toss our trash on you, but I think... maybe... the three of us could make a mark of a different sort in this world."

She snorted, the action releasing more liquid down her cheeks. "Not sure if I'm crying or my eyes are just watering from the smoke," she admitted. At his confused look, she said, "The toaster is on fire and I beat the shit out of the alarm the first time I made mac and cheese."

He was a flurry of activity after that. Her dish towel died a valiant death, though the same could not be said of the toaster itself. He had left the bag of bread next to the ancient piece of heated death, and the plastic melted and bubbled into a good deal of the blackened loaf before the whole lot was tossed into the sink under running water. He opened the window to air out the worst of it and then spun around with an air of sheepish nonchalance to say, "So, how do you feel about going out for breakfast? There's a diner around the corner, don't know about the quality but I'm fairly certain they can make toast."

The diner could make toast. The diner could make far more than that and cheerfully did so once they eventually washed up, fed Frecks, closed the window so he wouldn't escape, and got there, Barnes fussing over her crutch every step of the way. The eggs were a little greasy, the homemade jam a little sweet, but the coffee came with its own pot, so she called it good enough. Plus they had pastries that were basically miniature pies, so there was no going wrong there.

She decided that she probably really should get new glasses, or at least the process started. Either Stark insurance had preferential treatment or one of her newfound buddies had already set up the appointment for her as she got in same day. Her personal escort was more than happy to call for a ride to the place, shutting down any attempt to even mention her standard public transportation methods. She only wished she was surprised when said transport came in the form of the second super soldier to march into her life over the past few days, but figured there were worse things than traveling in the back of a comfy sedan versus a bumpy plastic seat that probably reeked of unidentifiable bodily fluids.

Captain Beck 'n Call sniffed the air suspiciously when he arrived, and raised one perfect golden eyebrow. She knew he probably assessed the entire situation with a single glance, but refused to indulge him with the actual explanation. It was more fun that way. Plus, that's what he got for being nosy.

Sergeant Little Shit just stood at her side, the picture of innocence. Or at least as much innocence as he could manage which really wasn't a lot. "I did my best to take out the apartment as ordered, but I'm afraid the mission failed," he reported with mock solemnness.

"He promises to try harder next time, and maybe even use the stove," Darcy chimed in easily enough.

The second eyebrow rose to join the first. "There is nothing I could have done to deserve either one of you," Rogers mumbled, but his lips held the hint of a smile.

Barnes cocked his head to the side and offered, "Not even the incident with Ora Reynolds? I'm pretty sure you deserved some divine retribution for that."

Steve looked her in the eyes with a sincerity so intense it had to be questioned, and said, "It's been years, decades really, and he's still trying to get me to take the fall for his folly. It's sad. So delusional." He shook his head and sighed dramatically, barely flinching at the punch to the shoulder he received for his efforts.

"Punk," Barnes muttered, but there was the slightest lift to his lips.

Rogers shook it off and returned to what appeared to be his default expression of looking prim and proper with the slightest glint of mischief in his eyes. "Did you actually eat, or do we need to stop somewhere along the way?" 

"We're good," Darcy waived him off. "The Buckinator here made me breakfast." At the look of confusion she received for her efforts, she added, "He made it with his wallet, but that totally counts."

Turned out she needed a full eye exam to confirm the prescription. This had the benefit of entertaining two guys from the forties who had never needed to deal with such things on a modern scale, but the detriment of needing to have the doctor from Medical call in to confirm the bruising on the side of her face had not affected her eyes and her concussion had been mild enough that it should no longer be playing a role with regards to her vision.

She chose frames similar to her old ones even though she was fairly certain she could afford much higher quality now. She still wasn't used to having spare change after so many years of scrimping it. Of course, it turned out that she was getting some high density, scratch and breakage resistant, polymer-something-or-other lenses because someone busied themselves with reading up on the safety rating and the recommendation for such things while she read tiny little letters in a dark room. The same someone insisted she get a spare pair in case she lost or damaged the first, citing her current circumstances as reasoning. She winced at the potential cost but, once again, found damn near everything taken care of with her apparently truly awesome insurance.

It made her wonder if she should have opted for the purple pair.

Because of the specialty lenses, it would be several days before her glasses were actually ready. She'd make due with her old pair until then and, besides, it wasn't like she was doing a lot of fine print reading at the moment anyway. Jane was still on limited duty and had told Darcy to take the day off as she was getting so little done anyway. Given that Thor's voice could be heard in the background, Darcy believed she had found the source of the lack of productivity. That, and Jane was solely at the compiling and crunching numbers stage of her investigation. Once they had more than just the raw data, they could start looking into what made that little mini portal tick.

That left her with The Boys for the day. One would assume having two admittedly gorgeous men at her beck and call for the day would be awesome, and one would not strictly be wrong. Damn near anything she wanted was to be hers, save for privacy, but it wasn't all bad. Though she really did try not to laugh at what they thought of as going incognito amongst the populace: hoodies and ball caps did nothing to disguise their bulk.

She took them to a shop to see if the new book in the series she liked had come in yet. She had always liked to read, but had changed with the times and usually had a tablet or e-reader with her. She had learned to have a backup given the number of times Jane blew the power supply for hours or days on end, and soon found that the local library or bookstore was once again a trusted friend. It had the added bonus of the guys fawning over "actual paper books" as they called them, and purchasing more than a couple for themselves. They insisted on carrying what she bought, and she kind of didn't stop them, though she wondered what that said about herself and her hard won persona of being self sufficient.

They also took her to a gallery to see a new exhibit that was actually quite cool with the caveat that she needed to sit and rest on the available benches more often than she felt was strictly necessary. The art was beautiful though, and she discovered that Captain Babysitter both dabbled a little himself and knew far more than he let on.

"Not much to do when you're sick all the time," he shrugged. "Got a few cheap pencils and some charcoal, would use the butcher's wrap or paper if we could afford it, walls if I could wash 'em before my ma got home. Buck here kept wasting his money on paint and brushes for me, tried to say he found them or someone just gave them to him when they'd still have the price tags on them."

"Never a waste," Barnesy insisted. He looked damned near proud when he told Darcy, "Wish you could have seen some of his work, doubt any of it survived or was deemed important enough to archive when things like feeding the populace were at stake. My boy had talent though, even if he was too dumb to realize it himself."

With his help, they managed to distract the dumbass long enough to pick up a few supplies of the art variety. She might not really know him yet, and found his hovering a little more than a little over the top, but knew he meant well and had caught the wistful look to his eyes when he mentioned the days of old. If a few pens and a sketchbook could light up his face the way it did when she handed him the bag, she wondered what'd he do with a proper set of paints and an easel.

Lunch was less of a lunch and more of a happening to pass an ice cream shop and making the most of it. Her dysfunctional puppy of a match pretty much vibrated with excitement when he saw what was on the menu. "Steve, look! They have that nutty stuff from the jar mixed with ice cream." The last was said with a reverence she thought assassins and trained soldiers only gave to weaponry. Needless to say, he had more than a single scoop of the Nutella chocolate swirl and she snuck a picture or six of the event.

She had more fun than she was willing to admit on their day out, and it may have hinted at just how well the three of them could work together in whatever endeavor they eventually chose. Even she knew though that a single afternoon did not equate to a lifetime of perfect happiness. Especially when she knew the other side of that particularly tetchy coin.

She was getting tired, and having trouble hiding that fact. This, of course, kicked them both out of fun mode and back into nursemaid. It was hard not to snap at them, especially when they pointed out the obviousness of her overdoing it, and she knew her tone was maybe a little more on the harsh and less on the understanding end of the scale.

The rest of the ride back to her apartment was relatively silent. Both men looked like they wanted to say more, but their manners and sense of morality or some crap made them hold back. Whatever it was, she was going to take full advantage of it. That said, she also knew she was not completely without fault in the breakdown so she pulled out her phone and went online to order pizza and wings with an estimated arrival time to match them pulling up to the curb.

The hapless delivery guy reached for the buzzer for her place just as she was getting out of the car. "Hold up," she called, shrugging off the attempts to help her with her crutch. "Right here to sign for that," she explained when the guy whipped around.

The not-much-more-than-teenager looked ready to piss his pants and she figured he had a couple of super soldier rated glares leveled in his direction. She huffed an irritated breath and ordered, "Back down. Mother Hen Number One, please grab our stuff from the car. Mother Hen Number Two, please carry our dinner upstairs without giving the poor kid a heart attack. Seriously."

The slightly more behaved one did as told and retrieved the bags to sling over his arm. The grumpy one continued to glare while he took the boxes and checked them for explosives or something while she signed the slip and gave far more than her usual tip for having to deal with this shit. 

"We're not hens," Grumpy Pants protested under his breath. It was weird to hear a trained assassin sound so damned petulant.

She raised an eyebrow in his direction and offered, "Would you rather I call you cocks instead?"

There was a quickly hidden snort from just inside the door while her neighbor Geno let them in. "Hey, Darce, what do you know about someone coming to fix the elevator? Guy says it's older than him and he needs to order parts?" 

She looked to her companions, who did their best to look innocent, before she replied, "Just that these two may have used their powers for good instead of evil for a change."

Geno smiled, the hint of gold around one of his incisors glinting in the low light of the entryway. "Well, I owe them then. Gran's been having trouble for months, joints getting worse and all that even if she won't say it." He turned to her look behind her, and didn't even flinch at the expressions he saw when he said, "Seriously, thanks. Been trying to get someone out here for a while but they fear for their livelihood or whatever. My boys? This ain't their expertise, if you know what I mean." She knew that at least three of those same boys would be called to look after the car now that he knew who it belonged to. Also, that those boys weren't kids.

When Geno was met with only silence, Darcy filled it with, "With the number of times you've helped me out? Not a problem."

He waved them on their way and Darcy headed for the steps, appreciating that at least one man in her life knew when to back off. Said appreciation intensified when her crutch nearly missed the edge of the metal and linoleum amalgamation, and Captain Showoff decided he still had one arm free and bodily grabbed her to carry her the rest of the way, giant arm around her waist as if it was nothing at all.

"I hate you," she said cheerfully when he put her down.

He shrugged and smiled as if that was his due. "Can't hate us too much if you bought us pizza?"

"Who says it's for you? Maybe I'm just really hungry," she baited as she unlocked the door.

"Hungry enough for three large pepperoni, a medium with stuff I can't identify on it, and a box full of something that swears it's chicken but smells like hot sauce?" Sergeant Sassy replied.

She plopped down on the couch and let Freckles crawl all over her before she told him, "Maybe it's my grand plan to kick you both out and hole up in here for days, surviving on cheesy and buffalo goodness."

They didn't seem to believe her, which was fine since she was lying anyway. They insisted on putting out plates and seemed to actually think she was going to sit at the table until they realized she had flipped on the television and was scrolling through channels. Her soulmate handed her a plate loaded with the good stuff and his soulmate handed her a napkin like it was going to make a difference. She remained unfortunately beer-less, but there was soda in the fridge so at least it wasn't a complete loss.

"If these are supposed to be chicken wings, why don't they have any bones?" Rogers eventually asked. His fingertips and his lips were already tinged the bright orange of the sauce.

"So you can stab them with a fork," she said with the appropriate obviousness, which led to the distribution of the appropriate silverware and some seriously doubting looks.

She took some more ibuprofen and lamented the fact her two mother cocks probably wouldn't be backing down anytime soon. Seriously, they even handed her the bottle of soda anytime she so much as glanced at it. They seemed to forget that she had made it this far in life on her own and was perfectly capable of continuing to make it with or without their assistance. 

Without would actually be pretty nice because she remembered where she hid the bottle of tequila during Jane's last visit when her friend wasn't quite convinced she had reached her limit. If The Boys would let her actually be on her own for more than the time it took to pee, she might have a chance of not giving her concussion a concussion banging her head in frustration. 

No one could be that righteous and true all of the time. No one. And if they weren't willing to let her see their true selves, then this whole connection thing could just go blow itself.

She may have muttered as much to herself when they rushed to clean up the second she yawned. She wasn't sure if they heard her or not but, given her luck and their super hearing, not to mention the chagrined look The Man with a Plan but No Poker Face had when he thought she wasn't looking, she kind of figured they did.

Said Man eventually faked a yawn of his own and got ready to leave. He dragged his companion by the sleeve towards the door and everything. She waited a ten count, then a twenty, then hobbled over to the window to watch the car actually pull away. She then hobbled right back over to the fridge and tried to reach the cupboard on top of it. It was then she realized that there was a reason that she had put it up high and that it was so a drunken Jane couldn't get to the bottle. Also, that she and Jane were about the same height.

She eyed the kitchen chair that she had used as a stool to perform that little trick, but shook her head. Somehow she doubted limited use of one leg and one arm would help her in her endeavor. She did not doubt, however, that The Boys would use any injury she would inevitably sustain from that adventure against her. Thus decided, she resigned herself to a tequila-free remainder of the evening and got ready for bed.

This time, when Frecks began to prowl in the middle of the night, she immediately got up and headed over to the window next to the fire escape. Surprisingly, there was no one there. Not so surprisingly, when she angled her head just right to look down to the front steps to the building, there was a familiar shape caught in the headlights of a passing car.

"For fuck's sake," she huffed to herself. She threw a hoodie over her pajamas and stormed down the stairwell as much as someone could when they listed heavily to one side. She yanked open the door and greeted Stalker McStalkerson with, "You've got to be fucking kidding me. We have enough hobos around here. They're going to start a union just to sue you for infringement."

"Hi, doll," he grinned as though he didn't have a care in the world. She was in no way charmed save for the part she was.

Footsteps on the stairs to her left made her glance that way just for Geno to tuck his piece behind his back. "Is there a problem, Darce?"

"Just an overprotective mother cock of a friend," she assured him.

He nodded as though that were a perfectly acceptable response. "Let me know if you need help," he said, but he was already headed up the stairs, shirt bulged slightly from where he tucked his gun into his waistband. She always wondered how he managed not to shoot himself when he did that.

She turned back to the matter at hand, and found Bucky was still smiling at her. "What?" she asked defensively.

"You called me friend," he answered smugly.

She rolled her eyes. "I call you a lot of things, many profane. Stop scaring the undercover cops so that they can take their nightly payoffs and go back to bed like the rest of us sane people."

He took that as an invite, which is only kind of was, and stepped inside. He took her slight wobble as an invite of a different sort all together, and hauled her up into his arms. She was sad to say she was almost starting to get used to the sensation. He carried her up the steps and all the way back to her bed where he tucked her in just like he had the night before. She heard him make one final pass of the place, probably to make sure every door and window was locked tight, before he curled up on the couch like he owned it.

"At least take a pillow and blanket, dumbass," she called from where she refused to move. She really was quite comfortable, so sue her.

Well, kind of comfortable. More so than before at least, but her left arm just wouldn't lay right. She adjusted herself on the pillow she had been given to prop herself into place, and then adjusted again. Now the covers weren't quite right. Trying to fix those, she kicked her knee out of the angle it was actually not quite as numb at. Fixing that fluffed some of her hair into her face. She reached to fix that even though she knew it would mean starting the whole process over again, but found a gentle weight preventing her from moving.

"Seriously, worse than Stevie when he'd get a cold," Barnes muttered. He tucked her hair out of the way and tugged the blankets back up into place better than she had managed in her own. "Can't get settled?" he guessed.

She debated lying but finally admitted, "Everything is off." She was fairly certain she kept the pout down to a minimum at least. True, it wasn't the world's most eloquent description of what was wrong, but there were so many little things that added up to the feeling of ugh that she really couldn't find the energy to list them all.

The bed dipped when he sat down on the very edge of the mattress. He reached out and began to massage the junction where her neck met her shoulder with his non-prosthetic hand, releasing a tension she hadn't even known she had. "You got hurt, doll," he said apologetically. "It'll be like that for a while, but it'll eventually get better. I promise."

"I know," she sighed. "It's just..."

"Frustrating?" he finished for her. 

"Total understatement," she agreed. He shifted slightly, fingers unerringly finding the place at the base of her skull where most of her headaches started and she resolutely did not moan. The rhythmic pressure was just right and she felt herself begin to metaphorically melt. If he talked at that point, she didn't really hear him because she was trying to think up ways to patent his fingers.

She was a gooey puddle of Darcy by the time he stopped his ministrations. "Better?" he asked, fingertips still resting lightly against her skin.

She nodded slightly before snuggling into her pillow a little bit more, reluctant to let those fingers go, but realizing she couldn't keep them there forever. "You totally have a career option if this whole reformed assassin turned justice-maker thing doesn't work out for you," she commented around a yawn.

He chuckled and she felt the vibrations move through her. He stood then, and adjusted the blankets one last time before he bent over and placed the gentlest of kisses on her temple next to her fading bruise. "Try to get some sleep, doll," he whispered, still close enough that his breath tickled the hair at the edge of her scalp. He soothed that tickle away with his hand, and she listened as he made his way back to the couch.

"Don't forget the blankets and pillow," she muttered in reminder.

She had no idea if he actually did or not because she fell asleep to the sounds of his whispered, "Yeah, furball, I know." 

The sound of a buzzer woke her several hours later, and she was once again very happy Jane didn't enforce any sort of regular hours since she'd definitely be late to the nine to five by the time she reached the tower if her alarm clock was anything to go by, especially given how she either forgot to set it or someone yet to be named had turned it off while she slept. She yawned and tried a truncated stretch and really hoped it wasn't an armed killer being let into her place - she already had one of those.

It was, of course, Captain Courageous. His presence was forgiven due to the giant bag of bagels he held in his hands. Freshly made by the smell of them and he even got more than just plain. The guys from another century weren't as big on the whole cream cheese factor, but he had brought a tub for her anyway. She even got them both to try a little before they resorted back to their blasphemous butter.

She washed up and got dressed while they did their thing of totally talking about how the night went without really talking at all. Whatever. She got a massage and bagels - there were worse fates in life. Her braces were already annoying after only the few days she had them so far, and she was running out of clean clothes that actually fit over them in a comfortable way despite their thinness. She eyed her wardrobe critically and figured she could make due for another day or so before laundry became an issue because there was no way she was explaining the importance of washing delicates separately to The Boys when they inevitably wanted to help.

When they reached the tower, Darcy detoured to the coffee shop in the lobby to grab herself a turtle mocha and Jane's standard custom order with cinnamon and a few other things that both sounded gross and tasted awesome. She was fairly certain the barista tossed in a few extra shots out of pity's sake and was also fairly certain her current entourage had no idea what they were getting into allowing the two women that much caffeine. She didn't have to carry them though (hell, the big tough former assassin had even wanted to carry her usual messenger bag for her) so it was all good.

As a surprise to absolutely no one, Jane was in her lab looking over the readings from the random portal that started this whole debacle. Thor was far too much of a softie to stop her for long, and Stark wasn't about to lock her out during normal working hours when she was the foremost expert on the subject matter. Any day that he didn't have to resort of calling Reed Richards was a good day for everyone involved.

An ice pack sat to one side in a mess of condensation and a heating pad sat to the other, unplugged but at least unwrapped. "Thor's not sure when that stopped and I never got around to telling him," Jane said by way of explanation. It was quickly followed by, "Ooh! Coffee!"

Darcy tried to shove Thing One and Thing Two out of the lab and was only successful after they cleaned up the water, dabbed dry the papers with scribbled notes that had been hit, and made sure there was something for Darcy to prop her foot up against for the day. She insisted that no, they did not need to move the small couch from along the back wall for that purpose.

"Still hovering?" Jane guessed around a sip of caffeinated goodness.

Darcy blew out a breath and actively tried not to snort. "To the extreme," she confirmed.

"Fresh match and it's been a while since either one of them had anyone to take care of," Jane shrugged. "Congrats, they chose you?" She even made halfhearted cheerleading gestures that ended with a very sad looking thumbs up, or at least as much of a thumbs up as she could manage with her own brace. She had endured the Passion of Thor when they first matched though, so she had the benefit of speaking from experience.

Darcy rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, but settled in to get to work.

Three hours later had multiple tablets and notebooks strewn about, a holoprojection hovering in the air above them, and two annoyed heroes at their door. "Busy, come back later," Darcy called without bothering to look away from the scrolling numbers. She might not know the full science, but she had learned what algorithms to look for over the years.

"Lunch," came the response. She wasn't sure if it was a question or an order and didn't feel like wasting the energy to figure it out.

"Later, we're on to something," Jane waved them off. A stylus fell from her hand, or possibly her hair, with the motion, and Darcy immediately handed her a spare. She took the sound of retreating footsteps as capitulation and refocused on the task at hand. 

She had no idea if it was minutes or hours later that said footsteps returned. She was busy standing damn near in the middle of the still-hovering display, weight carefully balance on her good leg, or good ball of her foot if she was honest with herself. She stretched upwards, using yet another stylus to point to section in question. "Here. That reading can't be chance, right?"

Jane hit something on one of the many tablets and the display shifted and folded around her. The light streamed by so fast that it was just plain disorientating and Darcy felt herself tip forward slightly as her body compensated. A hand on her waist pulled her back, and a second one resting lightly on her good shoulder soon steered her towards her abandoned chair. "Come on doll, sit down before you fall down," Sergeant Overprotective said.

She frowned and tried to scowl, but figured it was lost with her glasses slipping down her nose and a strand of hair caught against her lipstick. It didn't matter anyway because it was really hard to stay mad when her hair was tucked delicately behind her ear, her glasses pushed back up into place, and a hoagie from Pankey's deli was shoved into her hands. She turned to find Steve offering Jane her own paper-wrapped monstrosity of deliciousness and decided it wasn't worth the fight.

She blamed her lack of balance on her lack of her usual Docs. Those suckers had survived two alien invasions but not the current swell of her ankle, so she had been forced to downgrade to slip on canvas shoes that she could kick off easily enough when they got annoying. Well, that and her own refusal to use the crutch she had ditched as soon as the lab doors had closed that morning.

A stool was dragged over for her to prop her foot up on, and she would have complained save for the fact her favorite soda was offered as a reward for her good behavior. The Boys sat themselves nearby, likely to make certain the two women actually ate versus returning to their work, and she had to appreciate that they both put away two full-sized sandwiches when she got full off of her half. 

Captain Care Bear had no problem accepting her leftover chips after what was apparently a traditional triple-check, and she spared a glance down just as he reached for them. His sleeves were rolled up again, mark on display, and she resolutely did not grin at the fact his mark was damn near identically placed to his match. That whole warriors/manly men handshake thing was clearly a thing, even back in the day and even with two city kids who didn't know any better.

She was actually wearing her glasses this time, even if they were a spare pair and one prescription off what she actually needed, and finally caught sight of a second mark. It was on the inner wrist of the same arm and a pale blue that reminded her of the glow from the tesseract, light enough to explain why it might have been missed in the few pictures of that area from his day. The lines were zigzagged out from a central point, like a deranged dandelion or one of those Van de Graaff machines they liked so much on the science shows for kids. She assumed whoever it belonged to was part of the experiment group that made him the super soldier that sat before her now, and her heart went out to him a little for his loss.

He looked at her speculatively, and she kind of hoped she hadn't been caught staring or some stupid thing like that. It was beyond rude and he had been nothing but nice - if a little bit bossy - to her to date. The tiniest of grins graced his features though, right before he shoved a handful of chips into his mouth and said, "No take backs."

Much to her surprise, they actually let Jane and her get back to what they had been doing pre-interruption, the only caveat being a request not to break anything including herself while they were gone. She had scoffed, but it turned out her mark-match had a secret weapon of some truly soulful eyes when he wanted to pull out the big guns. It was damn near impossible to say no to that look, and she found herself having the projection itself lowered versus reaching up into it, to Jane's endless amusement.

It was not the only weapon in his arsenal, however. At five on the dot, Buckaroo arrived with a certain alien sorta-god in tow. Thor's overprotectiveness was famed for its epic proportions, and Darcy started packing things up the second he opened his mouth to make his case to his beloved Jane. She had gotten away with nearly a full day's worth of work and knew when not to complain, so she shut things down easily enough.

Steve drove them back to her place, Stark-assigned driver clearly a thing of the past - something she should have expected after the day before. She worried about the fancy-ass motor pool car being stripped for parts if it was left out on her block for too long, but was assured there was far more than a simple car alarm in place to prevent such acts. She waved off Geno at the entrance to her place and knew he was smart enough to put two and two together to know that new wheels and the same newish guys meant they were probably connected, and he once again called off the guys of his own on Darcy's behalf. They had a mutually beneficial agreement where he pretended he didn't look out for her and she pretended to have extra cookies whenever she made them. She made a mental note to set aside some time to bake.

"Still kinda stuffed from that sandwich, but I'm assuming your metabolisms are not? Also assuming that since you parked that you plan on staying a while. Let me know your preferences," she said once she was safely ensconced behind the deadbolt. She flipped open the binder full of various menus from next to the fridge and tossed it down on the table as she hobbled past. She was nothing if not organized, at least when it came to data.

"You can't survive on takeout alone," came the expected protest.

She plopped down on the couch and let her crutch fall to the side. "Sure I can; it's worked so far. Buckmeister B, you seem to know more about the modern era than Captain Freeze, back me up on this?"

The man in question huffed in amusement while he pushed a chair closer for her to prop her foot up on. He tucked the crutch neatly to the side in a reachable area and settled next to her before he asked, "Do you have something against using our actual names? Or just a really bad memory?"

She pursed her lips and pretended to think about it before she admitted, "It's just kinda more fun? I barely know you guys, mark or no, so it seems weird to be on a first name basis with you."

"But nicknames are fine?" Steve confirmed doubtfully.

"Yep," she said, popping the p on the end.

"And us calling you by your given name is fine as well?" James asked.

"Yep again. Besides, there's not too many nicknames for Darcy, so it's all good," she shrugged, or at least tried to. Her shoulder was a little achy after being sling-free for two days and didn't really like movement of any kind. Before they could get caught up on that, and from the matching gleams in their eyes they wanted to, she tried for a distraction by asking, "So, foodage?"

They did the thing where they seemed to have a full conversation made up of looks right above her head. With a decisive nod, Rogers flipped the book closed and announced, "I know just the thing."

James tossed him his wallet and Steve turned on his heel and made for the door. Darcy, confused but willing to roll with it, shifted to take some of the weight off of her knee and asked, "Cooking with cash again? I can totally pay my share."

"Not necessary," her remaining caretaker insisted. Frecks had hopped up next to him and boldly walked across the assassin without a care until he snuggled in between the two of them. Barnes idly scritched him behind the ears and reasoned, "This might take a while, is there a show you want to watch?"

Rogers returned nearly forty minutes later, but not with the expected greasy bag of goodness. Instead, he carried a reusable canvas bag from one of the nearby grocery stores and began to unload his decidedly raw wares. She turned down the sitcom they had been watching and asked, "Did you get lost on the way to Dickie's BBQ?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Good things come to those who wait. Besides, you said you weren't hungry yet, so we have some time." He snapped his fingers and did some weird eyebrow thing, and then Freck's fave new toy gently placed the cat in her lap and stood up to help.

"Men are weird, kitty-boy," she muttered as she turned the volume back up to standard. She received a furry forehead against her palm for her troubles.

She had moved on to a beautifully gross science documentary before plates appeared on the table. By then, smells better than anything to ever graced her apartment had started emanating from the kitchen area. She was not ashamed to say her stomach may have growled a little bit, but it was only fair since her mouth had also started to water.

"Sketti?" she guessed when serving tongs were produced. She hadn't remembered even having those.

"Simple bolognese with garlic bread on the side," Soulster confirmed. "Close to what Mrs. Cosetti used to make, but mucked up by two guys that didn't actually pay that much attention to how it was made when they were shoveling it into their maws."

He helped her to her feet and dragged the chair back over to the table in case she still needed it. At least they didn't plate the meal or do anything fancy like that. Instead, the sizable pot was placed in the center of the table and the tray of bread on the counter behind them to grab as needed. They let her serve herself, which she thought showed considerable restraint on their part, and then dug in with gusto. The only thing missing from a damn near perfect meal was wine, but she reasoned that two guys that grew up without that particular indulgence readily available and who couldn't actually enjoy the benefits of the alcohol probably didn't think of such things.

The food was good, like scarily so. Simple, yet full of flavor. She could only imagine just how good the original must have been if they considered this a cheap knockoff. She ate more than she intended, but a fraction of what the two super soldiers put away. They were both still using the last of the bread to sop up the last of the sauce when she pushed herself away and called it quits. 

They started to clean up but she insisted that she could bus her own plate not to mention wash her own dishes since they had gone through the trouble of making the meal. They let her be, grudgingly so but they at least allowed it, quickly positioning themselves to stop her from actually getting near enough to the sink to wash. That was fine though, as she never finished her self-assigned task.

She stood just fine. Gathered her plate and silverware just fine. Took three whole steps just fine. 

And then she tripped over Frecks.

She managed to not drop the plate due to the fact that her apartment was tiny and the counter was right there. She also managed to catch herself on the counter itself before she faceplanted. Unfortunately, she caught herself with her bad arm and it decided that not supporting her was simply not enough and it erupted into complete and total pain. Also? It wouldn't move which was unfortunate given that it was stuck in a truly unnatural position.

She may have possibly made a sound best described as a high-pitched yip. She may have also screamed. She may have also screamed some truly creative profanity. She had no idea what a "fudge-nugget" was, nor did she know what the son of one looked like, but apparently her current situation was somehow comparable.

"Shh, I've got you, baby doll," Bucky said, suddenly simply just there. His arms wrapped around her, which was ridiculous because her own arm was stuck up in the air, but she felt some of the tension leave her body as she no longer worried about standing in place, knowing that he held her steady.

"This happens sometimes," Steve explained. His hands gently pressed against her arm, stilling when she made another embarrassing noise. "The tendons and ligaments get stretched or hyperextend and-"

She was certain he had some valid and medically accurate jargon, just as she was certain that she didn't care. She cut him off mid-consolation with a plea of, "Just fix it, please?"

"You need to relax," he said. He wasn't mocking her, but giving her instructions. Not that it made it any better because her body didn't simply go limp on his command. "Try to relax the muscles in your arm and slowly lower it."

"It's not moving," she pointed out. There were tears gathering in her eyes and she couldn't even swipe at them. Both men were trying to calm her down, words quiet and unimportant so she tuned them out and tried to do as she was told. When nothing happened, she decided that it couldn't get any worse, and threw all of her strength and energy into forcibly flopping the damn thing back into position.

Oddly, that worked.

Not so oddly, it was incredibly fucking painful.

It took several deep breaths before she even registered the arms around her again or the soft praises of "You did good, baby doll," and "It's okay, we've got you." They didn't try to get her to sit back down in one of the semi-uncomfortable kitchen chairs, but brought her over to the couch, pillow propped up on the armrest to support her arm. They hovered, toned back behavior clearly a thing of the past, and she didn't have the heart to tell them to back off, especially when she rather appreciated the comfort and concern.

She leaned her head against the back of the couch and asked, "What the hell just happened and can we make sure it never does again?"

They told her stories of agents and cohorts who overdid it while in recovery, as well as stories of those who simply moved wrong and had the same consequences. They promised her it would get better with her physical therapy and made vague assurances that she took to mean the mother cocking was about to rocket to level three thousand. Best of all though, they found her stash of tequila above the fridge and gave her far more than a single shot.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Captain Cautious asked dubiously.

The one she may well begin referring to as The Fun One - and wasn't that just ironic given what she knew of his redacted past - countered with, "We don't have any muscle relaxants left and it works in the field, so why not at home?"

She didn't hear the response, but figured it was derisive. She was too busy focusing on the way the burn of the tequila contrasted sharply with the taste of the garlic and tomatoes that had threatened to return with force during her little adventure. She did, however, hear an added, "'Sides, she's probably not going to like this part."

"What part?" she asked warily.

"This one," he replied. He moved damn near too quick to see, but she definitely felt the action. Metal and flesh dug into her arm, cushioned only by the soft cotton shirt she was wearing, and then he simply yanked. There was a jab of pain and a hollow popping noise, and then the burning ache settled into an almost sharp numbness that radiated from her collar bone down to her fingertips. Not as bad as it was before, but definitely a sensation that she could have lived without.

She may have swore. She may have swore a lot. Said swearing may have been countered with a sympathetic, "Sorry, sweetheart, but we had to make sure it was back in place proper or else it would hurt a hell of a lot more before you're done."

She was handed pills that were unfortunately only ibuprofen-shaped and a large glass of water. Not long after, there was the sensation of her glasses being pulled from her face and the press of a pillow against her cheek. She really didn't have it in her to fight either. Exhaustion was a living and breathing thing, and her latest adventure had pushed at the barrier she had been fighting against all week, and finally crossed the line.

She awoke the next morning to a dull ache and two new roomies passed out on her couch. Well, probably not actually passed out given that they could hear a flea at thirty paces let alone her flailing about trying to sit up. She managed it though, and they even managed to halfway believably pretend to have not heard a thing. 

Barnes was sprawled upright in an almost sitting position, alert though outwardly relaxed. Rogers lay with his large frame impossibly folded to fit lengthwise along her tiny piece of furniture, head pillowed atop his soulmate's lap. His eyes were closed, but his breathing far too perfect to be anything but faking it. Her hypothesis was proven correct when Frecks freed himself from her pile of blankets and hopped right up beside him, one massive hand reflexively moving to that tiny spot between his ears that he liked so much and confirming the two had reached an accord of some type.

"Traitor," she said without heat. Her interlopers smiled and Frecks purred like a Geiger counter and she silently marveled that there was no bloodshed to be had. Because she was secretly twelve, at least mentally, she could not resist the jab of, "I'm going to go shower, you two enjoy petting the pussy."

Proving that certain phrasing was timeless, or at least quickly learned, James out and out guffawed and even Steve shook with silent laughter despite the way his face reddened. Freckles simply decided that if mama was up and moving it must be Food Time and started to meow like he hadn't eaten twice his weight in spaghetti sauce while her matches coddled her the night before.

Her little demon spawn jumped down to follow her, but James scooped him up easily enough to prevent a recreation of the previous night's mishap. "Don't go tripping the lady, furball," he chided softly. Louder now, and with a gleam to his eyes, he said, "You'll have to excuse the punk; he never was good at knowing what to do once he got his hands on one."

She turned and headed for the bathroom, not to grant Rogers privacy in his retribution, but because she needed the support of the wall to stop herself from falling over at his comical look of righteous indignation. 

She closed the door behind her and muffled the bickering and possible physical responses, hoping they didn't break anything important. The fact she really didn't have much of import or expense calmed her mind a bit in that matter. She downed a few more ibuprofen as a preventative measure before she began her usual morning routine, her own amenities a little less spectacular than those at the tower, but comforting in their familiarity.

There was one thing that was not comfortable, nor did it lead to anything familiar. She had dried off and drug a comb through her hair, giving up on much more since even that made one place on her arm twinge. It felt far better than last night just like Buckster promised, but was clearly still in the healing stages of everything. She had slouched into her fuzzy bathrobe, but her fancy braces went on under her clothing anyway, not to mention they would help hold her in place to get into said clothing, so she struggled to get them on correctly. The one for her knee kept getting caught on the fluff of her robe though, so she hiked her leg up to rest her foot atop the toilet seat and try to get it to work that way. 

As she did so, she happened to glance towards the door at a weird noise that she hoped was not her apartment nearly burning down again. Her robe had been hanging in front of the full length mirror she had nailed into the old wood, leaving streaks where it actually wasn't fogged over, and something in the reflection caught her eye. The room was small enough that it was easy to verify the splotch of color was not on the glass itself, which meant it was on her.

With her self-imposed limited movement, it was hard to twist to see it just right, so she gave in and grabbed one of her compacts from the counter and flipped it open to use the mirror. There, on the back of her injured knee, across the still wonky tendon, was a blue zigzag dandelion of Van de Graaff proportions of her very own. She took a moment to muse that it looked kind of like are really symmetrical plasma ball and then she took a moment to freak out.

She may have dropped the compact. She may have damn near fell off her perch. She may have had seconds to actually tug the damned robe back around herself before the door burst open to reveal a hyperaware super soldier needing to check on her.

Before Barnes got anywhere near to actually getting a single word out, she exclaimed, "You couldn't have told me? For real? I've been mentally calling him your tether and here he is an actual mark match because neither one of you damned fools understand the concept of protocols or common sense!"

There was a pause, and then an audible swallow. It was followed by a very pink faced Rogers peering over his bestie's shoulder, eyes wide when he said, "I'm going to go find her some pants. Maybe a shirt?"

It was then she realized she may not have actually tied her robe nearly as well as she had originally thought. Or at all. And her flailing hands during her rant had rather accentuated that point. She wrapped it around her now and looped the belt into place before she turned to glare at her remaining interloper, who seemed completely unperturbed by the fact she had just been flashing him.

He leaned in through the doorway slightly, arms braced against either side of the warped wood, and defended himself with, "I thought you knew." He shook his head and released one side to run his fingers through his hair before he corrected, "At first, I thought you knew. When it became apparent that you didn't, lunkhead over there had this grand idea to break it to you slowly, get you comfortable with me and him and the whole idea of being a mark match in general before tossing multiples at you."

She refused to turn down her glare. "I thought you said you read my damn paper," she accused.

He huffed, but the corners of his lips turned up into a half of a grin. "I did, he didn't. Hell, even Natalia told him he was stupid."

"Natal-, oh, Natasha, right. Just how many people knew before me?" she asked, anger evident in her tone. How many people had been sitting back and laughing at her ignorance and failure to see what was right in front of her eyes? Natasha at least made some sense what with seeing her in the nude, even if she hadn't said anything about the mark at the time. She figured she had Steve and his puppy eyes to blame for that - deadly assassin she may be, but those suckers were cruel.

"Just the three of us for certain, unless that Doc Foster of yours figured it out," he was quick to defend. "The guys in Medical would have noticed it, but since you didn't say it was all new and exciting and it was your first time there, it was probably only documented as an old mark or tattoo."

She nodded, and tried to adjust her stance. Her leg was getting tired and the ibuprofen were burning through her empty stomach. "Still doesn't make it better," she grumbled.

He looked at her in a considering manner. "Can I ask you something?" She rolled her eyes, but nodded again, expecting a question along the lines of how she felt with the hypotheticals of her thesis versus living the less than dream. Instead, he asked, "Are you stuck?"

Her injured foot was still braced against the toilet seat, her arms still folded against her chest with her right supporting her left, and her right knee was currently locked in a sad attempt to keep her balance. "No," she said less than convincingly.

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. He strode in and swept her up into his arms, ignoring her squawk of disapproval as much as her resulting flailing. He walked right back out of the bathroom, carried her past a confused looking Rogers that was holding a mismatched pair of leggings and sweater that she'd never be able to get on with her arm the way it was anyway due to its tightness, and lowered her gently onto the side of the bed, muttering the whole time about what he did to deserve such pigheadedness two times over.

"I'm fine," she huffed.

"No, you're not," James replied with a calmness that meant he was anything but. He knelt before her now and made short work of the abhorrent brace. He snapped his fingers once and Steve handed him the other one from where she had left it in the bathroom as well. Skilled fingers slid that one on far easier than she had been able to manage on her own up until this point. Those same skilled fingers slid upwards afterwards, calluses catching on the fabric of the braces and the skin of her leg before resting lightly on her knee once more.

"So, what am I to you?" she asked, even though she wasn't sure she wanted the answer. "A new toy? A puppy to take care of? Something to spice up your nearly century-old married life?"

He raised his other hand and rested it on her other knee now, the metal cool against her skin, especially after the heat of the tiny bathroom. He made no move to stand and looked up at her from where he knelt, symbolically giving her the higher ground should she believe in such bullshit.

"You are our match," he told her. "You are the thing that completes us. You tie us to our present so that we can move past what we were before. Steve isn't the man he was when we first met, and I sure as hell am not, even if I could remember everything. It ain't pretty, but it's what we've got. We get trapped there sometimes, get lost in how we think things should have been versus how they could be. In the last few days, you've made damned sure that didn't happen."

Steve sat at her side now. "We care for you," he said. A huff and a smile and he added, "Right now it probably seems we only care about taking care of you, but that's just because you're hurt. I've never really had experience with this before, and Buck always went all obsessive, so we're probably not that good at it. But we're trying? If you'll let us?"

"What do you want from me?" she asked. It was really hard not to focus on the bulk of muscle to her left, or the really hot guy currently situated between her legs. She'd tuck her robe down more, but figured that would only accentuate the situation. She wasn't blind, and she'd be stupid not to find them both attractive, but they had played her, not quite lying to her but not quite telling the truth. She was pissed, and felt she had every right to be, even if it was just that their stupidity had stood in the way if their good intentions. She felt for them, she couldn't deny that, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to let herself have some righteous anger before she gave in to reality.

"Whatever you're willing to give us," James answered, and part of her actually believed him. A larger part than she was strictly willing to admit. "We want to be part of your life, but understand we probably mucked it up nice and good. Give us a chance to make it up to you? Friends or more than, we'll take whatever you're willing to offer."

He pressed just a little bit closer, and she found herself licking her lips while she stared at his, anger already beginning to dissipate when she saw his pupils dilate with the action. Jane had said it was like that with Thor as well, a connection and utter want that overrode common sense, that she had wanted to be mad at him but melted at his apology and touch, tempered slightly now that she was used to it, but hard to control when it first hit. She claimed it was something about emotions and physical touch that did it to her every time, no matter how much she actively fought or tried to ignore it. Hell, Darlene from Systems claimed she climbed her soulmate like a tree within an hour of meeting her; a fact made more embarrassing given that they were at a public park at the time.

James either sensed the same thread of connection, or decided to push his luck, she wasn't sure which. His hands slid further up her thighs, beneath the fabric of her robe. He pressed up and angled his head slightly to slot his lips to her own, the kiss chaste despite the way the stroke of his thumbs made her skin quiver.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" Steve demanded, exasperation more than annoyance coming to the forefront.

"If you don't know, then it's really been too long," James smiled, lips still close enough that she could feel the movement.

"She's injured," Steve growled in protest.

"But not made of spun glass," he countered, finally shifting back to give her room to breathe. His right hand slid further now, fingers curling around the rise of her hip while his thumb continued its lazy strokes across far more intimate venues.

"She's right here," Darcy protested. The protectiveness was nice, but only to a point. She kind of thought she had proven that over the past few days. "And she can make her own damned decisions."

It was possibly a bad decision considering the circumstances, but she would know for certain soon enough. Setting precedents of ending fights with potential intimacy was probably not for the best, but it had been a long time since she had been with someone, she was stressed beyond belief, and, really, see the part about a hot guy kneeling between her thighs feeling her up. She was only human. 

Also? The whole connection thing was truly kicking her ass.

That determined, she flipped the cording of her belt open with her thumb and let it fall to the side. James took full advantage of this and surged upwards to capture her lips again, metal hand slipping the robe from her right shoulder as his right hand unerringly sought the place that made her gasp and writhe. The metal against her breast was definitely a new sensation, but not one she strictly minded. The thumb stroking against her folds and lightly pressing against her clit was something she most definitely could get behind. With vast enthusiasm even.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. His hands were already carefully removing the last of her robe from her injured side though, so she was fairly certain he knew the answer.

She nodded and let them press her back against the bed, legs still dangling over the side to give James ease of access. He took full advantage of that access as well. His hand slid down from her breast, pausing to tweak a nipple and make her arch, before trailing down to her waist and then around to the curve of her ass. He shifted her ever so slightly, supporting her as he opened her to him, lowered his head, and showed her how a sniper's focus could be put to other uses.

Needless to say, his tongue was even better than his fingers. Bonus points when he went for the combo and she had to actively remember how to breathe.

The noises she made at his actions were likely embarrassing but, then again, so were the noises she made when Steve lowered his mouth to her breasts. He nipped and suckled and kneaded with a gentleness that belied his size, body curled protectively around her injured side, so very close but still not touching. Hesitantly, he raised his lips to her own, and she kissed him with what strength she could manage while James continued to take her apart. Steve's large hands continued to massage her breasts, molded to them perfectly, lightly pinching her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers while he sucked her lower lip between his own. He dotted her face with so many delicate kisses that she would have laughed save for the fact James had now pressed a finger into her and crooked it just in the right way to make her gasp and writhe.

Steve met her eyes, pupils blown comically wide, before he lowered his mouth to her ear and breathed, "May I?" She had no idea what he was asking, but the answer was an emphatic yes.

His head lowered just slightly more and then his lips found her pulse point, tongue dancing along her skin before she realized he was tracing her mark, the one she shared with James. The intimacy of the moment hit her just as James added a second finger and crooked it to join the first, tongue still stroking her clit, and pleasure burst over her in a wave so intense that she swore she saw stars of a different type all together.

James gentled his movements slowly, letting the aftershocks rock through her and her hips cant up to search for him when he was gone. "Wow," she managed when she caught her breath. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess this bond might not be strictly platonic?"

James sat back on his haunches and laughed while Steve tucked her robe about her as though there was a need for modesty after what they had just done. It was Steve that helped her sit back up when her limbs didn't want to work properly, and held her there as though afraid she would fall. She would have called it cute, but the way he laved at the fingers James offered him was anything but. She clutched her thighs closer together at the sight and felt another aftershock roll through her.

It was then that she saw the way James' jeans were stretched tight, and the way Steve steeled himself when she let her hand rest against his thigh and realized there was still a tension to the sex in the air around them. "Want a girl to help a guy out?" she offered. A pause, and then she amended that to, "Or a couple of guys as the case may be?"

James made a face as though pained, but shook his head. "As much as I'd like to take you up in that offer, Stevie's right. You're still injured, and I don't think you're up to both of us just yet."

She pouted because she could. She was tired and achy but certain parts of her were more than awake and willing to give it the good old college try. Even if she had to admit that it was only parts and that she was already feeling the aftereffects of her limited physicality. Though, really, the orgasm had relaxed her in new and interesting ways that were probably not strictly medically approved.

Fair was fair though, and she truly believed in reciprocation, especially when she made both men shiver just by stroking against Steve's inseam. She raised her eyebrows in challenge and said, "Remember the part about this girl making her own decisions?"

Steve was closer and her hand already right there. She also knew he would make no move against her due to her injury, his protectiveness a living and breathing thing. She distracted him by cupping him through the denim and then made a move of her own. It took only a moment to flip the button on his fly, another to lower his zipper, and the way he squawked her name in surprise did more to urge her on than to stop her. She threaded her good hand between his boxers and his skin, skimming along his sizable length and feeling the heat of it before she fit it into her fist.

"Bucky!" Steve exclaimed, which only earned him a smirk.

"Why you calling my name when it's her that's got you in her grasp?" James asked reasonably, accent thicker than it had been a moment before.

Steve's hips jerked when she stroked upwards, hand out as if to stop her but not willing to risk causing her potential discomfort. "A little help here?" he asked, voice strained.

James reached towards them and Darcy had a moment to fear she had pressed too far, right up until Steve was knocked backwards onto the bed and his jeans and boxers pulled down to his knees, erection springing free from its confines, and his tight shirt rucked up to his armpits to reveal abs she really was going to have to lick some day. "There you go, doll. Is that easier for ya?" he asked with false innocence.

"Much," she agreed cheerfully. She gathered the precome from the tip of his cock and used it to ease the slide as she began to pump him in earnest. She couldn't quite manage to cup his balls without moving in a awkward way, but she was fairly certain he didn't mind if the way his hips rose to meet her every time was any indication.

She shifted slightly on the bed, putting only the slightest of pressure on her bad leg as she rearranged herself. He turned slightly as well and his hands rose as if to steady her. When he realized it wasn't necessary, he moved in a different way all together. One hand cupped her breast before it slid down to brace against her side and the other unerringly found her folds and he groaned deeply as his fingers skidded across the wetness he found there before sinking deep within her. He was using the size difference and his long arms to his full advantage and she really did not want to complain.

She gasped as she realized he was clearly just as determined to bring her off as she was him. She was already oversensitive and knew he probably had the advantage, or at least she thought so right up until a slight shifting sound caught her attention. James had leaned down to kiss Steve soundly, all teeth and tongues and noises whose memories would serve as workplace distractions for ages. He pulled back slightly though, metal hand ghosting down over Steve's muscled chest to wrap around her own busy fingers while he whispered, "Let her have this."

Steve twitched once in warning, and then he was gone, coming in long spurts across his own stomach as he shook with the force of his release. He still had the wherewithal to curl his fingers just so, and then drag her right along with him as her second orgasm flooded every nerve ending and then some. Her muscles tensed and she could feel the pull of it across every injury before her body as a whole melted to mush.

Hands caught her as she started to lose her balance and gently lowered her to the mattress, ever mindful of her left side. Or at least they started to. Half reclined and fully supported, she heard Steve make a sound that could only be called a whimper and she looked up to see what had caught his attention. She found James with his hand around his own cock, a look of frantic bliss on his face as he stroked once, twice, and then moaned as his release splattered against the stickiness already decorating Steve's skin.

He caught himself on the edge of the bed with his hands braced around them and sounded like he had just run a marathon as he heaved for breath. It was Darcy though, that found her words first, incoherent they may be, and managed, "Wow. That was... wow."

"You can say that again," Steve agreed. He made the most adorable eeping sound when she dragged her fingers through the mess on his abs and brought them to her mouth to lick clean. The tang of salt and something she couldn't quite name but wanted more of burst across her tongue and she repeated the process across his overheated skin to gather another taste. "She's going to be the death of us, isn't she?" he asked the world around them before he flopped back against the mattress.

"Probably," James agreed from his side. "But what a way to go?"

She felt a very distinctive twitch near her hip and grinned despite herself. "Round two?" she offered. "Or would it technically be three?" She began to reach towards her goal, but found her hand carefully drawn away and placed atop the soft cloth of her robe.

"Later," Steve whispered, his hand possessive in an entirely new way where it now rested on top of her own. "We promise."

She sighed dramatically, but knew they were probably right. There was still the daily routine to get to, despite the fact they were already horribly late. Though she did have an excellent excuse this time. "Then, in that case, can I offer either one of you the use of my shower? I can pretty much guarantee that there's no hot water right now so it'll be nice and cold."

She could see James' smirk and feel Steve's chuckle deep in his chest. "We may just take you up on that offer, doll face."

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, reminding her of the fact she had yet to eat breakfast as well as that the ibuprofen she had taken earlier were still burning a hole through her belly. She looked up guiltily as James stood and offered her a quick peck on the cheek. "Showers, breakfast, and then a very truncated day at work. I have it on good authority that Thor knows to grab Doc Foster no later than four today."

She knew he meant barring any galactic invasions or ground breaking discoveries because, really, that's what it would take to stop either one of them. She also new he was listing what he hoped for and not what he could promise for the very same reasons.

"And then tonight we'll see how platonic this bond is again," Steve whispered against her ear, causing her to shiver.

"You know, we have a bigger bed at the tower," James mused as he stretched. His pants were still undone and she was horribly distracted by that fact. She forced herself to pay attention to his actual words when he said, "I'm sure Stark would offer you one too, to go along with a suite of your very own."

"Not going to happen," she said brightly. "But nice try."

"She likes her independence too much," Steve guessed.

"She likes her own space to figure out where she stands in all of this," she corrected. There was still a lot to process, and she didn't know yet if the sex complicated some of those issues or simplified them. Frecks meowed from his place atop the couch to remind her she had more than soul bonds to worry about and she added, "And she likes having a place for her cat."

"You'll fold, in time," James predicted. He offered her a washcloth, a brush, and a far more matched outfit than Steve had managed earlier and laid it out beside her to get dressed while they washed up. Unlike Steve, he even remembered a bra and panties and to make sure the shirt buttoned up instead of slid over her head.

"Maybe," she conceded as she reached for the offering. "You never know what fate has in store."

"Now that's the damned truth."


End file.
